


Space Between Us

by CleverSnail



Series: Space Between Us [1]
Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Body Horror, Dubious Consent, Grittyfluff, M/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 25,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverSnail/pseuds/CleverSnail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone underestimates Benny, especially Bad Cop.<br/>(Human AU of the Lego Movie)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bad Cop had leaped at the chance to fill in for the sick patrol officer. His new job as Bricksburg’s chief of police revolved around a particularly ham-fisted daily routine of paper pushing, and he missed working the beat. _Badly_. So he took the opportunity, even if it meant patrol on a Saturday.

He hadn’t considered the more annoying logistics of that choice. The coffee shop, when he finally found time for a break, was mobbed. His customary seat was occupied by a dour-looking teen scrolling endlessly on a tablet computer. Bad Cop grimaced, turned in a full circle with coffee in hand, looking for somewhere—anywhere—he could claim for a quarter hour.

An empty seat in a booth towards the back caught his eye and he charged it. He was nearly in front of it when he spied the pile of books covering the hidden half of the tabletop, and then Benny tucked into the corner, elbows on the table, engrossed in what appeared to be a huge mechanics manual. Benny looked up before Bad Cop could retreat.

“Oh hey, Bad Cop!” Benny’s face lit up in recognition. “Need a place to sit? It’s nuts in here today.”

Bad Cop groaned inwardly; there was no polite way to decline. He mumbled his thanks, figuring he could down the cup in five minutes if he applied himself.

“Have a seat.” Benny waved to the empty bench across from him, and began to heft huge books away from the middle of the table. “Let me make some room…”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Bad Cop blandly, sliding into the booth. “Won’t be long.”

“It’s no trouble,” Benny shrugged dismissively. “There you go. Room for the mug, anyway.” He shoved another great tower of books into the back wall of the booth.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Benny returned to his reading with a nod and a smile.

Bad Cop took a cautious sip of the too-hot drink and studied the astronaut. No spacesuit today; instead Benny wore a short-sleeved blue dress shirt, dark tie and trousers. Benny’s usually unruly blond hair had been clipped into a smart crew cut. The air force insignia pin on Benny’s breast pocket caught Bad Cop by surprise. It had never occurred to him that Benny might be in the military. In fact, it was almost impossible to imagine Benny, of all people, in the service.

Benny suddenly raised his eyes from the book, and caught the police officer staring. Bad Cop tried to recover and took a long, nonchalant pull from the mug. He nearly choked on the scorching hot liquid.

“How’s that coffee?” Benny wanted to know.

“Blazing.”

Benny laughed, “Be careful.”

Bad Cop nodded lamely. He wracked his brain for something to say. Anything to direct the attention away from him.

“What’re you reading?”

“This?” Benny flipped absently through a thick handful of pages. They were filled margin to margin with complex diagrams and incredibly small print. “Oh, just going over the systems parameters of the new orbiter we’re taking up in a few months.”

Bad Cop was incredulous. “You’re going into space?”

“Yeah…it’s kind of my thing,” Benny teased him gently.

Bad Cop attempted to reset. “But, I mean, you were actually _chosen_ for a…mission?”

Benny’s smile became impossibly large. “Yep! I’m the Flight Engineer. I’m _totally_ psyched. We’re going to be docking with the space station and transferring payload to the guys already up there. It’s gonna be so awesome.”

“And you can concentrate on that”—Bad Cop pointed to the manual—“in this melee?” He glanced out of the booth with thinly veiled disgust at the scene around them.

Benny leaned in, rested his chin on his hand. “This is how I work best. The crazier the scene, the better I can focus. We _train_ for this, y’know.”

Bad Cop was suddenly struck by how intensely blue Benny’s eyes were. He fumbled for his coffee.

“Besides,” Benny continued with a lazy grin, “I know these systems backwards and forwards. I helped design them. I’m just reviewing ‘em for fun. I like kicking back on the weekend.”

It took Bad Cop a moment to realize Benny wasn’t making a joke. He took another swig of coffee and cursed.

“Bloody hot,” he explained.

“You can sit here as long as you want; you don’t have to rush.”

“Thank you.”

That smile. Was the man ever _not_ cheerful?

Benny dropped his eyes again to the manual. Seizing the opportunity, Bad Cop covertly perused the other titles on the table. Thermodynamics. Aerospace engineering. Telemetry. And a huge amount of comb-bound literature he couldn’t identify. He was boggled. How to reconcile the man before him, pouring over advanced aerospace technology books, with the one [he’d once discovered getting high in the trailered boat Emmet kept in his driveway](http://paperspot.tumblr.com/post/81571665220/liminality)? This made no kind of sense at all. None. Bad Cop sat back in the booth and slowly spun his coffee mug with one gloved finger.

He was jolted from his reverie when the two-way crackled loudly to life.

“Bravo Charlie 01, we have a 10-50.”

Benny’s gaze flicked up. Bad Cop grabbed for his shoulder mic and turned down the volume of the receiver clipped to his belt.

“Bravo Charlie 01, go ahead COM.”

“At 1847 Elm, witnesses reporting several vehicles involved.”

Bad Cop was standing now; Benny mirrored him. They stood, facing each other.

“Bravo Charlie 01, 10-4 COM. Send a bus.”

“01, I copy a 10-52 at scene.”

“Affirmative. 01 en route.”

Bad Cop took a last mouthful of coffee and nodded to Benny as he shuffled out of the booth. “Thanks for the seat.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the company.”

Benny’s grin returned, couched now in concern. “Sure. Take care out there.”

Bad Cop tapped the visor of his helmet. “Will do,” he said.

In five long strides he was out the door. In the distance he could hear the wail of an ambulance. And inside the café, through the glare on the window, he swore he could still see Benny, standing where he’d left him, watching. Bad Cop almost waved. But then thought better of it.

He turned away and sprinted to the squad car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop and Benny bond over coffee, doughnuts, and aeronautics. Bad Cop used to underestimate Benny. He doesn’t anymore.

It wasn’t clear to Bad Cop when it had become a standing engagement. If he thought too hard about it, he felt awkward, and he hated that. So he stopped thinking. Just showed up at the coffee shop between eleven and noon on Saturdays, where he knew Benny could be found in a booth behind a fortress of aeronautics books.

Bad Cop was salaried, so no one at the station questioned him when he added a permanent weekend patrol shift to his work week. Probably assumed the chief just needed to get out from behind his desk and work the beat like the old days. Which was true. And besides, what else would he be doing on a Saturday? It wasn’t as if his social calendar was full. It wasn’t as if he _had_ a social calendar.

And so they fell into a comfortable routine. Bad Cop would buy two large coffees: black for him and a regular decaf for Benny. He’d slide into his place at the booth where Benny would make room for their cups. Benny invariably had a doughnut on a small plate with a folded napkin waiting for Bad Cop; the flavor changed from week to week. And that was it. Bad Cop would nurse his coffee and eat his doughnut, and Benny would read his books. Occasionally they’d speak. But mostly it was quiet between them. It was, without question, the best part of Bad Cop’s week.

When he considered the deepest peace in his life currently came from sharing a table at a crowded café with Benny, it was almost laughable. But Benny wasn’t who he was made out to be, either, Bad Cop quickly discovered. Beneath his exterior of frenetic enthusiasm were a startling intellect and a laser focus. Benny had quietly collected several advanced engineering degrees over the years. He was a test pilot for the air force and an astronaut besides. Bad Cop had never known such a capable person be so unassuming, so benign. It unnerved him a little. So much potential for power, and none of it used.

As the Saturdays accumulated, something changed. It was nearly imperceptible at first. Bad Cop realized when he asked “How’ve you been keeping?” he was genuinely interested in Benny’s reply. And likewise, when Benny inquired about his week, Bad Cop found he didn’t actually mind sharing some of the more notable moments with Ben.

The day of Benny’s launch drew closer. Soon, it was all he talked about, but Bad Cop forgave him that. In truth, it was surprisingly easy to allow himself to be drawn into Benny’s excitement. Bad Cop couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt happy for another human being. It felt familiar and strange at once, like a new set of clothes. But he settled into the feeling, let it be.

The second-to-last Saturday before the launch, Bad Cop hardly had time to sit down with their coffees before Benny was speaking to him at full volume.

“Bad Cop! I had the best idea! I’m throwing myself a quarantine party!”

Bad Cop slid Benny’s cup over and lifted his aviators slightly to peer at this week’s doughnut. It had bright blue icing and was sprinkled liberally with tiny candy stars. He glanced at Ben, replaced his sunglasses.

“A what now?”

“A quarantine party!” Benny repeated with an expansive gesture.

Bad Cop picked up his space doughnut and took an experimental taste. “That doesn’t sound like a very appealing party. What sort of disease must you present to be invited?”

Benny rolled his eyes. “No, it’s ME in quarantine.”

“And what disease have you got?” asked Bad Cop innocently. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

“ _I’m_ in quarantine for a week before launch so I don’t _get_ any diseases.” Benny spoke slowly, as if addressing a very young, very stupid child.

“Then how can you possibly throw yourself a party?” Bad Cop rested his chin on his hand.

“You’re impossible,” Benny muttered, opening the nearest book and pretending to read.

“I’m sorry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really. Try me again. That wasn’t very fair of me. Tell me about your party.” Bad Cop took a massive bite of the blue doughnut, just to prove there were no hard feelings. It was so sweet it made his teeth ache.

“I don’t think I want to.”

“C’mon. Ben.”

Benny sighed. He made a show of carefully marking his place and closing his book. “Alright. So I’m throwing myself a party before I have to go into quarantine. A last hurrah with the outside world. And you’re invited.”

Bad Cop took a drink of coffee, swallowed slowly. “Ah well, that’s very kind of you. But I’m no good at parties.”

“You’re the _only_ _one_ invited.”

The sudden silence between them was so profound Bad Cop could hear the pounding of his heart even above the noise of the café. Benny was looking directly at him, lips drawn tight, awaiting an answer. Those cerulean blue eyes, watching him, waiting. Nervous eyes. Worried eyes. Eyes steeled for disappointment. At last Bad Cop took a deep breath.

"Yes. Yes of _course_ I’ll come, Ben.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop gets ready to go out to dinner with a soon-to-be-quarantined astronaut. He’s kind of terrible at it.

Benny’s week-long pre-launch quarantine was set to begin Wednesday morning. That gave Bad Cop three long, miserable days to worry himself ill over Benny’s “quarantine party.” Which wasn’t even technically a party. Just Ben and Bad Cop, and some fancy restaurant Benny insisted they try.

The chief was a terror at the station on Monday, and worse on Tuesday. When he left his shift early Tuesday afternoon they’d practically thrown open the doors in relief and prodded him out.

At home he completely tore apart his closet looking for something appropriate to wear, only to discover he had nothing civilian that could possibly work. In the end he settled on his dress blues sans the uniform jacket. Plus tie, belt, and impeccably-shined black shoes.

“You look like a cop,” he told his reflection in the mirror. “Dammit.” It would have to do. No time for wardrobe adjustments now.

He shaved, brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his hair. Tried to ignore his scars. His aviators covered most of the horror of his ruined right eye, at least. He flung on his duty jacket and headed out the door.

Bad Cop was in his car and on his way to the restaurant a full twenty minutes ahead of his self-imposed schedule. That helped him relax a little. He’d planned to get there before Benny and make sure the bill was charged to his own credit card.

Also, he wanted a good, hard look at the place; time to assess all possible exits should his dangerous past follow him there. He hadn’t breathed a word about their dinner plans to anyone, not even to Emmet or Lucy, but he’d learned he could never be too careful. Especially in public.

A Mustang GT with tinted windows blew past him in the passing lane. Bad Cop glanced at his speedometer and frowned. He was doing 75; this damned kid was toying easily with 100. Dammit. He didn’t have time for this. He was _not_ going to chase. This was someone else’s take. He hit the touchscreen on his dash console and consulted a real-time display of current speed traps in the city limits. The idiot kid would hit a trap in less than a mile; he could let it go.

A moment later, there were flashing blues ahead. They’d jumped on the kid quick. Bad Cop grinned. He knew the officers would take their sweet time running license, tags, and insurance numbers, allowing ample opportunity to ogle the beautiful muscle car at their mercy. As he passed the traffic stop, Bad Cop slowed, flicked his lights. The two officers on scene turned, and recognizing their chief’s car, waved. One pointed exuberantly at the stopped GT and flashed a thumbs-up. Bad Cop chuckled and drove on.

As planned, he arrived at the restaurant early enough to make arrangements for the bill and wander through, hunting down emergency exits. Reconnaissance complete, he settled down in the lobby to wait. And then the bar.

With no sign of Benny, Bad Cop fished his lighter and two cigarettes from his jacket pocket and went outside for a smoke. Nerves were getting the better of him. He felt like a teenager on a first date, awkward all over again. Even the vodka tonic he put away at the bar did nothing to kill off his bellyful of butterflies. And where in the hell was Benny?

Bad Cop was halfway through his second cigarette when Benny sprinted around the corner. He looked like he’d run a marathon, air force uniform askew, flight cap clenched in his fist. He thudded to a halt beside Bad Cop, and stood panting on the sidewalk, hands on his knees.

“Oh man, B. I’m so sorry. I got nailed for speeding on the way here. Ugh. So stupid. So, so stupid.”

Bad Cop gave his head a shake, unbelieving. “That was YOU? The Mustang? By the overpass?”

Benny nodded glumly. “I wanted to get here ahead of you. I knew you’d try to do something sneaky and gallant like pay the tab.”

Bad Cop stubbed out his cigarette. He said nothing.

Benny crossed his arms and smirked. “You _did_ pay it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I bloody did,” huffed Bad Cop, scowling. “Honest to God, Ben. What kind of a caveman do you take me for?”

Benny looked at him for a long beat, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. He reached for the door, pulled it open for Bad Cop. “C’mon B. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop: you can dress him up, but you can’t take him out (though Benny tries).

The host led them up three flights of stairs to a dining area on an expansive, lushly decorated rooftop. Benny immediately looked skyward; the heavens were a muted canopy of stars.

“This is cool,” he murmured. “What d’you think, B.?”

“Mmm.” Bad Cop hadn’t planned on this. He’d assumed they’d have dinner downstairs, where he’d already noted each exit, door, hallway. Here on the roof, there was too much open space. A long drop to the street. One, _maybe_ two ancient stairwells.

He tried to secure the area visually without drawing attention to himself. No good. Too many shadows, too much darkness. And only one eye to take it all in. One damned eye to keep them both safe. He felt his throat begin to constrict. Bad Cop shook his head, trying to clear it; focused on his breathing. He was _not_ going to lose control here, not tonight. Not in front of Ben.

He flopped into his seat at the table, took deep, slow breaths. A server appeared from his blind side, making him jump.

“May I get you gentlemen a dr—“

“Jameson on the rocks,” Bad Cop snapped. He cleared his throat. “Please.”

The server looked nonplussed. “And you sir?” he asked Benny.

“Hmm. A Manhattan, please.”

With the server gone, Benny leaned in. “ _You okay_?” he mouthed.

Bad Cop nodded, forced a small smile.

Benny studied him a moment more, then turned to the menu in his hands.

Their drinks arrived quickly. Bad Cop made a token show of swirling the whiskey around in the glass before draining it in one long swallow. Benny stared as he set the glass down.

“Thirsty?”

“Very.”

As the familiar heat of the liquor bloomed in Bad Cop’s belly, he felt his throat release a little. He opened his menu and frowned darkly.

After several minutes, Benny settled back in his chair. He took a leisurely drink of his Manhattan, smiled up at the stars.

“So, what looks good to you, B.?” Benny asked.

Bad Cop scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “I dunno. I recognize maybe one word in every twenty on this bloody menu,” he said petulantly.

Benny hitched his chair in towards the table and folded his hands, businesslike. “No problem; we can figure this out. What do you like to eat?”

“Menu items that are clearly identifiable as food.”

Benny gave him a weary look.

Bad Cop wilted slightly. “Sorry.”

“Trying to help here, Bad.” Benny spread his hands in surrender.

“I know. ‘M sorry.”

They passed a long minute in silence. Bad Cop could feel Benny’s eyes on him, felt a hot flush of embarrassment rise up his neck. He was ruining everything, but didn’t know how to make it stop.

Suddenly Benny closed his menu with a snap. He knocked back his Manhattan.

Bad Cop looked up, startled. Was Benny walking out? A cold vice gripped his guts. _Oh God._

Benny reached out and touched his sleeve. Bad Cop stared at Benny’s hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” said the astronaut conspiratorially as he flagged down their server.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop and Benny enjoy fast food. Bad Cop learns about the Overview Effect.

“Oh man, B., this is way more rad than that rooftop thing.” Benny beamed and flipped a french fry into his mouth.

Bad Cop tore the wrapper away from his cheeseburger. “It absolutely is. Look—” he gestured grandly with the burger toward the view out the windshield, “—all of Bricksburg laid before us in stunning halogen.”

After a hasty retreat from their ill-fated dinner reservations, they’d grabbed burgers and fries at a late-night greasy spoon. It was Bad Cop (much to his own amazement) who suggested they drive to the outlook by the airport and have their impromptu feast there.

And truly, Bricksburg did look her best at night: rosy-orange streetlights in rows, warmly-glowing shaded apartment windows, shining white fluorescent-lit office buildings, tiny pairs of headlights moving slowly through the dark streets.

Benny took a drink of his soda and toyed with the straw, eyes on the city. “Y’know, I really miss Bricksburg when I’m up there.” He motioned skyward with his thumb. “I love being in space, but sometimes thinking about home just wallops you in the gut when you’re so far away.”

Bad Cop plucked two fries from the container, handed one to Benny. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. “Must be so strange to be somewhere that isn’t, well, _earth_.”  He offered Benny another fry.

“Oh, it is,” agreed Benny, taking it. “We train for years and years to go into space, but when the time comes and suddenly the world is there below you—your entire life is _down there_ , all blue and white and green and _so beautiful_ , so fragile…” Benny shook his head, “…it’s mindblowing. Really powerful. And super humbling. When you come back everything on earth seems just _incredible_. Every single thing. Every single _person_.”

Benny turned to Bad Cop. “And that feeling never goes away; it digs in real deep and stays with you. I wish everyone could be an astronaut for a day so they’d understand how _lucky_ we are to live on this amazing planet. This is all such a gift.”

Benny fell silent for a moment and took a long drink of soda. Then he smiled. “Thanks for being here with me tonight, B., This is an awesome send-off.”

Bad Cop lowered his eyes and brushed crumbs off his trousers. “I started things off badly earlier.”

Benny shrugged. “You didn’t.We just had to adjust our heading a little; now we’re on the right trajectory. Easy fix.”

They ate quietly for some time, looking out over their city.

Bad Cop finished his burger, crumpled the wrapper into a tiny ball. He ducked his head to peer up through the windshield. “Pity there aren’t more stars to see,” he mused. “City lights are too bright.”

Benny lit up like a candle. “You want to go look at the stars? Oh my gosh, I know the best place! It’s my secret spot, but I’ll take you if you want to go, B.”

Bad Cop studied the man beside him—this aerospace engineer, this decorated test pilot, this _astronaut_ positively vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going stargazing the night before his pre-launch quarantine. His enthusiasm suddenly reminded Bad Cop of a young cadet many years ago who dreamed vividly each night of becoming a police officer.The memory hit hard, but he didn’t push it away; he felt it, let it sink in.

Then he flicked on the headlights and turned the key in the ignition. “Lead away, Ben,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny gives an astronomy lesson and Bad Cop makes a promise.

“It’s only a little ways from here, maybe a quarter mile.”

Outside city limits, the night was velvet-dark. No streetlights. Bad Cop slowed the car, squinting into the light thrown by the high beams.

“Tell me when.”

“There,” said Benny suddenly.

Bad Cop swung the car onto a dirt road.

“Follow it a few hundred feet. There’s a turnoff up ahead.”

They found the spot and parked. The first view of the sky as they stepped out of the car was overwhelming. Bad Cop couldn’t remember ever having seen so many stars, even as a boy in the suburbs. The stars looked as if they were running in streams across the blackness.

Benny clung to the sides of the car, craning his neck back as far as he could. “Wow, the sky’s amazing tonight,” he said softly. “D’you have a blanket, B.? We should be lying down.”

Bad Cop shook his head. “No blanket, I’m afraid. Maybe the car? We could lie back on the windscreen.”

Benny beamed. “Yes, perfect.”

They settled themselves on the hood, side by side, falling easily into a comfortable silence. Occasionally sharp-eyed Benny would point out the tiny glow of a satellite crossing the sky. Bad Cop didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t actually see most of them. But he could just about make out the planets Benny showed him, and the brighter stars of the summer constellations. It felt good just to sit there and watch the sky.

Then, without any warning, the full weight of Benny’s impending departure came pressing in on him. That ruthless, terrible vice wrenching his innards again. It was like drowning on air. Suddenly the quiet felt heavy, oppressive.

“Saturdays won’t be the same while you’re gone,” he said, apropos of nothing and hating himself almost immediately afterward.

“Yeah, it’ll be weird,” agreed Benny, without a hint of awkwardness. Then Benny was sitting upright, fishing madly in his pocket for his phone. “Wait a minute—I have an idea. This might work,” he said cryptically.

He fussed with his phone briefly, then leaned back against the windshield beside Bad Cop.

“B., we can totally still meet up next Saturday. This is so cool!” He sidled over to show Bad Cop the screen of his phone.

Benny’s shoulder pressed in tight against him. Bad Cop could feel Benny radiating warmth like a tiny sun. Their proximity was suddenly all he could think about. He tried to still himself, to focus.

“Look,” Benny went on, “this is a database of all the objects in orbit you can see in the night sky from any location in the world. The space station will go right overhead next Saturday night at 10:32. You can drive out here and watch it go by, and I’ll look down from the station at the _same exact time_. Want to?”

They were so close to each other Bad Cop’s head begin to swim. The only sound in the universe was Benny breathing beside him. Time ground to a halt.

“Yes,” Bad Cop said simply, “I’d like that.”

They drove back to the city. Bad Cop refused to leave Benny off at the door of his apartment building (“I’ve a bit more in the way of manners than that, Ben”). He parked in the tenants’ garage and they went in together, took the elevator to the 12th floor. Walked slowly down the long hall to Benny’s place. Tried to delay the inevitable.

Benny unlocked his apartment door and let it swing open. He turned to face Bad Cop.

“Thanks again, B. I had a great time. Even the part where we ditched our waiter at the fanciest restaurant in town and went for burgers instead.” He thought for a second. “Actually, _especially_ that part.”

Bad Cop smiled at the floor, hands clasped behind his back.

“Remember: see you next Saturday. Ten thirty-two.”

Bad Cop nodded. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

They stood together in silence for a long moment.

“Take care, okay, B.?”

“You too,” said Bad Cop quietly.

Benny’s smile had lost some of its shine, but he was trying. “G’night.”

“G’night.”

He stepped back behind his apartment door, blue eyes on Bad Cop until the door latched with a click.

He was gone. Just like that.

Bad Cop stared at the hard finality of the closed door for a full minute before he could turn away. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his duty jacket and stalked back down the hallway to the elevator, barely able to catch his breath. He was infuriated with himself, skin crawling with white-hot anger and shame.

_You fucking idiot._

He halted in front of the elevator doors and glared daggers at his reflection in the polished metal.

_Goddamn you to hell, you coward. Why didn’t you just fucking kiss him when you had the chance?_

Frustration overwhelmed him. He slammed his fist into the elevator call button as hard as he could. With a sound like a gunshot the plastic plate shattered, splitting his knuckles. The pain was intense, breathtaking.

_Good. You fucking deserved that._

The elevator bell chimed just as Benny’s door creaked open.

“B.?” he called, leaning into the hallway. “You okay?”

“Ah…could use a bandage, actually,” admitted Bad Cop, shaking his stinging fingers. Large droplets of blood spattered the elevator doors. “Dammit.”

“Come in. I have one.”

Benny guided Bad Cop into a kitchen chair, folded a tea towel under his bleeding hand. With peroxide, bacitracin, and a fistful of Band-Aids from the bathroom, Benny knelt down and set about patching up Bad Cop’s shredded knuckles. He worked quickly, with warm and sure hands.

At last he sat back on his heels. “There you go. Good as new. Sort of.”

Bad Cop surveyed Benny’s work, flexed his fingers gingerly. “Thank you.”

“I shouldn’t ask how that happened, should I?” Benny cocked his head slightly to one side, grinning.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” said Bad Cop, meeting his eyes. “I won’t make that mistake twice.”

He slid down from the chair, took Benny’s face gently in his bandaged hands, and kissed him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Benny still has to report to pre-launch quarantine.

Bad Cop awoke gently. It was a rare blessing.

The room was quiet, blue dawn highlighting the spaces between the blinds. The rumble of early traffic had begun on the city streets below. Pigeons murmured drowsily from the fire escape.

He lay perfectly still, listening to the entire world rising out of sleep.

And then, a stirring beside him, sheets rustling like whispers.

Ben.

He turned carefully to look at him. In the half-dark Benny’s face was a map of shadows. Strands of his strawberry-blond hair gleamed dimly. His breaths were soft, even. Bad Cop tugged up the sheet to cover Benny’s shoulders and his eyes crept open.

“Hey,” Benny said with a sleepy smile.

“Hey yourself.”

Benny stretched luxuriantly, all lean limbs and freckled skin. He scratched absently at his stubble, eyes on Bad Cop.

“Sleep well?” Benny asked. One bold hand began to trace a line from Bad Cop’s collarbone, down his side, to his hip.

“Best sleep in ages, actually,” Bad Cop confessed, catching Benny’s arm at the wrist and wrapping it around his waist.

He drew Benny close and kissed him hard. Skin pressed to skin, their legs all in a tangle. Bedsprings protested faintly, everything warm and slow and bluely-lit.

And then, the alarm.

With a growl of frustration Benny lashed out blindly at the clock radio. It tipped off the nightstand and exploded into plastic shrapnel on the floor.

Benny sighed. “ _Fuuuuck_.” He covered his face with one hand and pulled a pillow over his head.

But Bad Cop was already on the move, fishing in the sheets for his boxers.

“Alright, Space Cadet, up and at ‘em,” he teased. “Can’t be late for your quarantine.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop laughs in the face of all police stereotypes and goes on a doughnut run.

Bad Cop had a quest: breakfast for Benny.

He tucked himself back into the previous night’s rumpled clothes, collected from where they’d been hastily discarded in Benny’s kitchen, living room, hallway, and bedroom. He combed his hair with his fingers briefly, considered his stubble. And in the end, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to get cleaned up. It would be just a short walk from Benny’s building to Larry’s coffee shop through the shaded early-morning streets.

Behind him, the sun was already edging up, and the day promised warmth. But here on the street the air was still cool and clean from the night. He filled his lungs, let it clear his head. Bad Cop was already at the door of the café before he realized he hadn’t had a smoke, and didn’t particularly want one. Other things on his mind.

The coffee shop was already wall-to-wall with people. He imagined their eyes on him as he perused the doughnuts in the display case. He wanted to stand on a chair and crow “Guess where I slept last night?” to a shop full of stunned faces. Bad Cop grinned at the thought. _Wouldn’t that just fucking beat all?_

He chose a glazed doughnut for himself and a star-shaped, purple-iced, rainbow sprinkled monstrosity of a doughnut for Benny. Benny would laugh at its ridiculousness and love it, and that was absolutely worth the humiliation of purchase. Bad Cop picked up their customary coffees: black for him, a regular decaf for Benny.

He headed back to Benny’s, heart extraordinarily light. He felt good. Just damned good. Proud as a peacock in last night’s clothes.

The shower was on when Bad Cop let himself back into the apartment. Benny was singing loudly, some incomprehensible song. Feeling good, too.

Bad Cop set the doughnuts and coffee down on Benny’s tiny butcher-block table and went in search of his wristwatch; it had been his father’s, a gift for 45 years of service on the force. His arm felt entirely wrong without it. He vaguely remembered putting it down somewhere in the apartment the night before. Maybe the bedroom? He made his way down the hall.

Benny’s bedroom in the light of day was a riot of color. Bookshelves crammed with massive aeronautics texts. A huge hand-painted mobile of the solar system stretching entirely across the ceiling. A tiny workspace by the fire escape completely awash in model spacecraft parts. Three sets of gigantic stereo speakers. And on every available surface, spaceships, of every medium imaginable: balsa, metal, plastic, clay, drinking straws, cotton balls, gumdrops, toothpicks.

Only the bed was free from the intrusion of outer space. Benny had already made it up, to precise military standards, and had set out clothes for the mission beside a blue duffel bag.

Bad Cop felt a hitch in his chest. This was real: Benny was leaving. He stared at the clothes. His watch was there, too, resting carefully on a folded white handkerchief where he couldn’t miss it. He retrieved the watch and went back into the kitchen to wait for Ben.

Benny appeared at breakfast in his air force dress blues, necktie, spit-polished shoes and all. So fucking handsome. Radiant in every way. Bad Cop nursed his coffee and watched as Benny devoured his ridiculous doughnut, tongue purpling with the foolish icing. Excited and talking about everything, anything. That thousand-watt smile. And now, newly-emboldened hands, reaching out to squeeze Bad Cop’s fingers, rub his forearm, grasp his wrist, soothe his bandaged knuckles. Bad Cop imagined the weight and warmth of Benny’s hands sinking deep into his skin, through flesh and into his bones, hoping it would be enough to sustain him in the weeks ahead.

He was suddenly spun back into the moment; Benny was speaking to him. There was a blue sprinkle caught at the corner of Benny’s lips and Bad Cop had to fight the urge to lean in and lick it off. _Oh god, this exquisite boy._

“If I give you my key, will you swing by and check on the place a few times, B.?”

“‘Course. Not a problem.” The sprinkle continued to taunt him.

“You can mess around with my rockets if you want.” Benny rested chin on hand. His eyes were roguish.

“Bet you say that to all the cops.”

“Only Bad Cops, actually.”

“You’re a fine fierce devil, you know that?” smirked Bad Cop, shaking his head.

“So you said last night,” Benny grinned wickedly. “Several times. And at a variety of different decibels.”

Bad Cop dropped his head then, ran bandaged fingers through his unwashed hair, once, twice. Overwhelmed, overcome. He rubbed at his temples with the heels of his hands.

“What have you done to me, Ben?”

There was a moment of compete silence, of utter stillness between them

Then Benny reached out, carefully touched his face: gentle warmth against the terrible scars. It made Bad Cop jump. Benny drew his hand away, but Bad Cop caught him by the wrist. They looked at each other.

“Please don’t stop,” said Bad Cop.

Benny smiled; it was like sunshine filling a room.

“’What have I done to you?’” Benny repeated the question. “Exactly what you’ve done to me, B. We’re even.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An astronaut packs for outer space, misplaces his Mustang, and heads to pre-flight quarantine.

Bad Cop sat on the edge of Benny’s bed, watching him pack. It was surreal: Benny carefully folding away shirts and pants, boxers and tee-shirts, looking for all the world as if he was packing for a month at summer camp and not 40 days in space. Bad Cop wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected an astronaut’s suitcase to contain. Spacesuits, maybe. Astronauty things. Moon boots? Freeze-dried ice cream. Tang. Nothing so glumly mundane as this.

“We can’t wash our clothes on the space station, so we just wear stuff over and over.” Benny explained, cramming socks into every available space between clothes. “It’s pretty grubby after a week or so, to be honest.” He winked boyishly at Bad Cop.

Benny zipped up the duffel, tested its weight, heaved it back down on the bed.

“And then when it’s time to come home, we pack all our dirty gear into a little pod we can jettison towards earth. It burns right up in the atmosphere.”

Bad Cop nodded seriously. “Easy clean up. I can support that.”

Benny laughed, unzipped the bag again and rearranged a few items. “I think you’d do great in space, B. You’d really like it.”

Bad Cop leaned back on his hands. “Oh, I already know I’d like it.”

“Yeah?” Benny cocked his head, grinning brightly.

“Absolutely. You’re there, for one. That’s a point in its favor.”

Benny gave him a fond look, and Bad Cop felt that familiar melancholy hitch in his chest. The months since Benny had come into his life had been nothing short of remarkable. Quiet, and unassuming, but remarkable nonetheless. He’d never had to pretend around Benny, never had to put on any face but his own. Benny’d simply accepted him. Through his terrible moods, stony silences, and cranky outbursts, Benny had never wavered. Not once.

Bad Cop couldn’t imagine what he’d ever done to deserve such fierce loyalty. They’d never spoken about his past. About the witchhunts for Master Builders. They hadn’t dragged that misery back into the light. It would need addressing someday. But for now, Benny seemed willing to judge him for the man he was, not the man he’d been. It was the unmistakable focus of an astronaut: attention to the mission at hand, for the sake of the mission to come.

And to think it had all started in a foolish little overpriced faux-bohemian coffee shop.

“Gonna miss you, B.” Benny zipped up his duffel bag for the last time, dragged it out of the way, and sat down beside Bad Cop, hands folded, looking every inch a hero in his uniform.

Bad Cop scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “I’ll miss you too, Ben. God almighty, will I ever.”

They sat side by side in silence. Only the sound of Benny’s 1960s-vintage wall clock challenged the deep quiet.

Suddenly inspired, Bad Cop straightened up. He rolled back his sleeve to show Benny his watch.

“Look, Ben, this belonged to my Da—it was given to him for his service as a police officer.” Bad Cop polished the scuffed watch crystal with his sleeve. “He was so proud to wear it. Said it reminded him of all the years spent making our town safer. Making it _better_.” Bad Cop looked at Benny. “He’d have really liked you, you know. You’re peas in a pod, the two of you. Honestly.”

The still-sharp sadness of his father’s passing threatened to overtake him then, and Bad Cop had to pause for a moment to swallow it down. Benny stayed quiet, let him recover. Bad Cop took a deep breath.

“Benny, do you want to wear the watch while you’re up there in space? That way you’ll always know what time it is at home. But only if you want.”

Benny nodded slowly. “I’d love to, B. That’s an amazing honor. Thank you.”

Bad Cop unclasped the watch from his wrist and put it on Benny.

“There now. I even warmed it up for you.”

And Benny could do nothing but smile back at Bad Cop, at a rare loss for words.

They collected Bad Cop’s car from the tenants’ garage and drove out to the affluent section of Bricksburg. Benny had—by some minor miracle—found street parking the night before, but it had been several blocks from the restaurant they’d chosen for dinner. In his haste to get to the restaurant, Benny hadn’t paid close attention to where he’d left the car. It took the two of them twenty minutes to track the Mustang down. They found it at last on a ritzy one-way street, lined with luxury condominiums. Bad Cop pulled in behind Benny’s car and Benny hopped out, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Oh NO,” sighed Benny, leaning over the Mustang’s hood and plucking a parking ticket from the windshield, “Bummer.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Bad Cop whipped the ticket out of Benny’s hands and slid it into the breast pocket of his duty jacket.

Benny’s eyes gleamed, delighted. “You mean you’ll pull some strings for me down at the station?”

Bad Cop rolled his eyes dramatically. “Nooo,” he intoned, “I’m not a dirty cop, Ben. I’ll pay the fine. It was me who drove you back to your place and had my wicked way with you, thereby preventing you from collecting your vehicle in a timely fashion.”

“I’d say that makes you a _very_ dirty cop after all.”

Bad Cop reddened fiercely from shoulders to forehead. “ _You_ ,” he jabbed a playful finger at Benny’s chest, “Are going to be the absolute death of me, mister.”

“Don’t say that, B.” Benny pressed Bad Cop gently back against the side of the Mustang, twined his strong arms around Bad Cop’s shoulders.

Bad Cop grinned, arms encircling Benny’s waist. “Ah, it’s not so bad. I’m going smiling all the way to my grave in that case.”

Benny leaned in and kissed him then, right there in the empty early-morning street, as if they were the only two people in the world, bold and brazen as the fiery new daylight plunging between the shaded city buildings.

With a frustrated sigh, some minutes later, Benny broke off the kiss.

“I know,” said Bad Cop, “It’s time for you to go.”

Benny nodded glumly. “But I’ll message you, okay B.? Every day.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course!” Benny squeezed Bad Cop’s hand. “There’s even an IP phone. I could call you.”

“Huh! Amazing.” Bad Cop ran this thumb along Benny’s knuckles, slowly, slowly.

They fell silent.

“Okay,” said Benny at last, sounding like a coach giving a peptalk to a reluctant athlete. He made his way to the driver’s side door, Bad Cop trailing two paces behind, hands in pockets, eyes to the ground.

Benny threw his duffel bag onto the passenger seat, hunkered down into the car, and turned over the engine. The GT roared to life. He lowered the window, hung a rakish elbow out.

“See you in 40 days, B.—no, wait! See you next Saturday, yeah? Ten thirty-two.”

Bad Cop leaned in, hands braced on the doorframe. “I’ll be there, looking up.”

“And I’ll be there, looking down.”

They smiled at each other.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, B. I’ll text you tonight.”

“Fantastic.”

“’Bye, B.”

“’Bye now, Ben.”

Benny put the GT into first, revved the engine. Loudly.

“I’m not coming to save you if you get caught in another speed trap,” chided Bad Cop, but he was grinning. “Now go, before you’re late. _But slowly._ ”

One more blue-eyed glance at Bad Cop and Benny pulled away from the curb, dutifully driving off well below the speed limit. He hit the horn and waved enthusiastically out the window. Bad Cop stepped out into the quiet street. He waved back and watched Benny go, rays of red-orange morning sun dazzling along the side of the bright blue Mustang. Fire and sky, the loves of an astronaut.

Sudden movement on Bad Cop’s blind side startled him out of his thoughts: a red Range Rover coming up close and quiet from behind. Bad Cop wheeled out of the way, shaken by the driver’s bold proximity. “Ye goddamned eejit,” he growled.

It was a hybrid of some sort, silent as a shark. Only an eerie, gritty crunch of tires on the pavement marked its passage as it ghosted by. The windows were tinted to near opacity: a cop’s nightmare.

The SUV rolled slowly to a stop in the road just ahead of him, seemed to be considering him. Bad Cop didn’t like the look of that at all. He reached instinctively for his shoulder mic, and realized with a jag of panic it wasn’t clipped onto his jacket; he hadn’t brought it with him when he left his apartment the night before. He began to sweat. The Rover’s license plate was lit with garish red halogen, and he squinted to read it.

BIZNSS

_No._

Bad Cop staggered backwards into the side of his own car, hard. The jolt of the impact knocked the breath out of him.

_NO._

Bad Cop scrabbled for something to hold onto and found the side mirror. His injured knuckles split open under the strain of his grip. Blood began to soak through the bandages, but the pain pierced through the haze in his brain, focused him. Bad Cop damned his reckless inattention.

The Range Rover still idled in the middle of the street.

How much of their overly-fond farewell had Business seen? His possessiveness of his former lieutenant had once bordered on mania. Had time tempered that? Bad Cop wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t optimistic. For fuck’s sake, how long had that damned SUV been there behind them? _Why in the name of God hadn’t he just fucking looked around when he got out of the car?_ He’d been unconscionably careless.

Bad Cop clung wretchedly to the side mirror, tried to puzzle out his next move. But the SUV was rolling again. Bad Cop watched, helpless and in horror, as it began to follow Benny’s Mustang down the street.

No.

Oh god no.

Business must have seen everything.

_Ben._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To save an astronaut.

The two vehicles moved off down the one-way street: Benny’s blue Mustang followed by Business’ red SUV. A twisted parade; heaven slowly pursued by a relentless hell.

Panic’s cold claws pressed into Bad Cop even as he struggled against it.

_Think._

He unclenched his hands from the side mirror of his car. The effort was exhausting.

_Think, goddamn you._

He straightened up shakily, took visual stock of his car. It was a generic black Dodge, carefully devoid of any police trappings. Off duty, he sought safe anonymity; no police lights, no radio. Nothing anyone could discern as coppish if they peered in through the cabin windows. He’d given in to having a small onboard computer linked to the department installed in the dash only because it was unassuming enough to be mistaken for a GPS. He’d put his sidearm in the glovebox the night before, but he carried no extra badge. He never had, for fear of it being stolen.

A pursuit was out of the question then.

Bad Cop wrenched open the passenger side door and rifled through the contents of the glovebox: his gun, several old traffic flares, hastily stowed copies of reports, three yellowing latex gloves, the end of a roll of barricade tape. Fuck-all of any use. He slammed the glovebox shut, and hung on the open car door, fist pressed to forehead.

There was nothing he could do to draw Business away from Benny now, not without spotlighting his paranoia. And Business would of course deny any malicious intent out of hand. He was helpless. Entirely fucking helpless. He sank down into the passenger seat, hands gripping his hair, defeated.

From deep within his duty jacket his phone chirruped its 8 o’clock alarm. He fished for it, angrily, and silenced it. Stared at it.

Of course.

If _he_ couldn’t stop Business, he’d damn well find someone who _could_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possession.

The plan was simple. And Bad Cop knew from experience that simple plans were, by and large, successful ones. He put a call into dispatch on his cell, requesting a traffic stop on a red Range Rover traveling south on B75, with possible illegal after-market lights.

He knew it wouldn’t hold Business up for more than fifteen minutes, but that was more than enough time for Benny to get out of his sight and miles ahead. Probably _many_ miles ahead, judging from the way he’d seen Benny lay into the accelerator of that Mustang.

Bad Cop drove the rest of the way home in a daze, caught up in the radio chatter on his phone’s scanner app. Business had pulled over without a fight and quietly accepted a citation for the red halogens around his plates. The young officer who’d made the stop couldn’t seem to shut the fuck up about who he’d nabbed. Bad Cop made a mental note to assign the kid four days’ worth of transmission protocol retraining. The last thing he needed was for Business to hear his name bandied about like a prize on the police frequency. But all told, it had all gone well, better than he had hoped.

And that made him incredibly uneasy.

Bad Cop pulled his car into the tenants’ garage, dragged himself inside his building. The adrenaline hangover was just catching up now; he fumbled loudly with his keys outside the apartment. He’d just managed to turn the bolt in the lock when his phone chimed. The keys fell into a jangly heap on the carpet as he scrabbled to retrieve the phone from his pocket.

_Hey B just wanted to say Im here!_

_All systems go, haha_

Bad Cop gripped the phone with both hands, breathed for the first time in what felt like hours. Spent adrenaline made his fingers shake; it took him three tries to type a response.

_Glad to hear it. Off to work in a bit. Take care ok?_

_You too B. Text you later_ _:)_

Relief. Benny secure under the watchful eye of the space agency. Bad Cop let himself in the apartment and chucked his keys onto the kitchen countertop. He kicked the door shut behind him. Feeling bold, he fastened only the top two of the four locks he’d added for security.

He checked the clock on the stove, made a beeline for the bathroom. Time enough yet to make himself look at least vaguely presentable for work. He stripped off last night’s clothes, still smelling of Benny’s apartment. He shaved quickly, expertly avoiding his waterfall of scars, then clambered into the tub and turned on the shower. Cranked up the hot water until he felt like he was cooking.

It was amazing how quickly peace of mind fled from him, even now.

Was he being paranoid? Over-thinking all of the events of this morning? He wasn’t at all sure.

It had been years—half a decade—since T.A.K.O.S. Tuesday and the ensuing rebellion. Years since he’d been Business’ public enforcer and private plaything. He’d clawed back his sanity, his life from the detritus of those wicked days—Lucy and Emmet had made sure of his success in that. But some marks would never fade, could never fade.

He had so many of those. Some worse than others.

He let his soapy hands linger between his legs, gliding over the damaged, raised flesh there. Bad Cop couldn’t bear, even now, to trace its entire shape: the angry, red **B** carved into the softest parts of him, just inside his thigh, high, where his leg met his body. His stomach churned at the memory of Business humming, hacking that filthy initial into him as if he were no more than a dead tree. Making him property, a possession. Business’ belonging.

It was a miracle Benny hadn’t discovered it the night before. That was a conversation Bad Cop wanted to delay as long as possible. _Yes, Benny, while I was busy by day torturing your Master Builder friends, by night I was being actively fucked by the mastermind of it all. Funny old world, isn’t it?_

And so this was the reason he couldn’t let it go, chalk it all up to paranoia: Business had always been a dangerous man to underestimate. And he’d never been particularly good at sharing his possessions.

Bad Cop turned off the shower, stepped out and grabbed a towel. All the traffic stop had done was douse a coal while the volcano still raged above. Business only had to pay off a crooked DMV employee to run Benny’s plates and he’d have all the info he wanted on him. He’d probably already done it. Knew Benny’s name, where he worked, where he was headed in a week’s time. Bad Cop’s stomach dropped. He clutched the sides of the sink, steadying himself.

Mother of God, _the launch._

Bad Cop bolted into the bedroom, pulling on clothing from various open drawers and the closet. He fastened most of the buttons on a relatively wrinkle-free shirt, flung an untied necktie over his shoulders. He jammed his shoes back on, shining them cursorily on the calves of his trousers. Keys, patrol cap, duty jacket, two-way radio, and he was out the door.

He had an entire pre-launch security protocol to revamp.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Benny’s launch. Bad Cop does something impulsive.

Bad Cop couldn’t honestly recall the last traffic stop he’d made. The officers five miles back at the speed trap had clocked this idiot doing 107 miles an hour; he was going to kill someone. And the chief was the only uniformed officer close enough to make the grab. So he put his Charger though its paces, brought the guy down. Textbook, just like the old days. It was strangely satisfying. Bad Cop knocked on the window of the black Camaro, pressed his badge against the dark glass. The window opened a crack.

“License and registration, please.”

There was a pause, and then the window began to slide down. Bad Cop suddenly recalled the very real danger of traffic stops; it was easy to forget, sitting behind a desk. Goddamned tinted windows. His fingertips grazed his sidearm as he angled himself out of range.

But the voice that came from inside the car hit him harder than any bullet.

“Heyyyyyy, that was really _adorable_ the other day in the street, Bad Cop. _Super cute_. Are you handing out kisses with all your traffic stops now? Or just to strapping young astronauts?”

Business folded his arms slowly, casually on the Camaro’s open window frame, rested his chin on one hand. His grin was poisonous.

“Was it a kiss for good luck? Because that’s a super dangerous job, right? Being an astronaut? Strapping yourself to 20 stories of explosives and hoping for the best…geez.” Business tsked and shook his head solemnly. “ _Anything_ could go wrong. _You just never know, do you_?”

Bad Cop stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, unable to move. Useless, totally fucking useless.

A cellphone rang within the car. Business reached for it smoothly.

“Well, what do you know?” he crooned, examining the screen. “It’s your comeuppance calling, Bad Cop. What are the chances? Huh! ‘Scuse me; I gotta take this. I _really_ don’t want to miss this call.”

Bad Cop awoke with a jolt to the ringing of his cellphone. He was soaked with sweat and hanging halfway off the couch, every muscle tensed, throat painfully dry. Swallowing hard, he tried to shake off sleep and the remnants of the dream. Business’ voice still echoed in his ears. He retrieved the phone from the carpet, squinted hard at the caller ID. His stomach jumped.

“Benny? Hey!” he dragged himself into a sitting position, scrubbing at his bad eye.

“Hi B.! What’s shakin’?” he could hear Benny smiling, even over the phone.

Bad Cop scratched his head shakily, patting down unruly tufts of hair. He tried to sound casual. “Oh, the usual. Just having a nap, actually.”

A sharp intake of breath. “I didn’t wake you up, did I? Aw, man. I’m sorry.”

“No no no. Time I resurrected anyway. Still need to sleep tonight.” Bad Cop checked his phone. Nearly 8pm. He stretched gingerly. “So, Ben, what are you up to the night before launch? Massive party, is it?”

Benny laughed loudly. “The rest of the crew took their sleeping pills an hour ago. Out like lights. I’m not ready to sleep just yet. Brain’s too busy.”

“Excited?”

“Holy cow, yes.”

Bad Cop couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’m excited for you as well.”

There was a very long pause on the other end of the line. Bad Cop had to check to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. When Benny spoke again, the confidence had disappeared from his voice.

“Hey B., would it be okay if we just…talked for a while? I know you’ve got a big day tomorrow too, with launch security and all that, but—“

“Not a problem, Ben. I’m all ears.”

“Thanks.”

As Benny talked—and he did so without pause—Bad Cop grew increasingly uneasy. That damned dream pricking at the back of his mind. And Benny sounding suddenly so unsure. It _bothered_ him. And he couldn’t shake the feeling. He decided then to do something stupendously rash, and found he was too tired to talk himself out of it.

He was still on the phone with Benny 45 minutes later when he arrived at the security gatehouse of the space center. He had gotten back into uniform, and when he flashed his badge, the guard let him through with a nod and no awkward questions.

Bad Cop had spent the last five days here, checking and rechecking the security protocols he’d put into place. He’d worked twelve hour days in the field, then returned home in the evening to type up pages of memos and emails. He was running on four hours of sleep a night, living on caffeine and cigarettes, but the stakes were too high to leave launch security to an underling. With Benny on Business’ radar now, things were infinitely more complex.

Bad Cop pulled to the back of a non-descript brick and steel building in the eastern part of the campus: the Astronaut Quarantine Facility. He’d poured over the plans and knew the building inside and out—at least on paper. There were three floors. The ground floor was a health center, the second floor held conference rooms and medical facilities, and the top floor housed the astronauts in private bedrooms. Benny had once described the accommodations as “swanky.”

Bad Cop parked his car and got out. One light in the entire building still burned: the second window down from the northeast corner of the top floor. Benny’s room.

Benny was talking animatedly about Common Booster Core configurations on the Delta IV rocket. He had been for twenty minutes. Bad Cop sensed that rehearsing the mechanics of the launch soothed him. And so he leaned against the side of his car, “mmm-hmm”-ing and “ah-ha”-ing in all the proper places, chain smoking, watching the lit window above. Listening to Benny’s voice. The minutes ticked by. Sleep-deprived and fighting exhaustion, the scene suddenly reminded him vividly of Romeo and Juliet, and the image of Benny as Juliet made him—to his own deep horror—guffaw.

Benny fell silent on the line, perplexed by the outburst.

Bad Cop scrambled to do damage control. “Sorry! Sorry, Ben, sorry. Ahm—so, I’ve a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“Come look out your window.”

“Okay.”

A familiar silhouette appeared cautiously in the window, staring into the night.

Bad Cop reached into the car to flash the headlights once, twice.

Silence on the line.

And then softly, incredulously, “B., is that really you?”

“It is.”

“Stay there.”

“I will.”

The silhouette disappeared. But a handful of minutes later, lights came on across the ground floor, illuminating floor to ceiling glass windows and the gym equipment within. Bad Cop started toward the building. Benny jogged up to the windows to meet him, phone still to his ear, grinning.

He pressed fingertips to the glass and shook his head, disbelieving. “Wow! This is an _amazing_ surprise!” He chewed on his lip, eyes alive. “I am so, _so_ glad to see you, B.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes yourself, Ben.” Bad Cop looked Benny up and down. White socks pulled halfway up his calves, navy soccer shorts, and a blue NASA tee-shirt just a hair too big for his lean frame. He was clearly meant to be asleep in bed.

Benny put a jaunty hand on one hip, teasing. “I would have dressed up a little more if I’d known I was going to have a gentleman caller.”

Bad Cop shook his head. Couldn’t stop smiling. “No, you’re fine Ben. You’re just fine. New haircut?”

Benny’s strawberry blond hair had been trimmed military-style, high and tight. He chuckled, rubbed at it bashfully. “Yeah, well, the air force claims I’m _technically_ on active duty now, even in space—go figure—so the hair had to go. But it’s cool. It’ll grow back. It always does.”

Benny pressed closer to the glass, palm splayed against it now. “But look at _you_ , so handsome in your uniform,” he said softly. “That’s how you got past the guard, huh?”

Bad Cop nodded, stepped in towards the glass and Benny. He rocked back on his heels a couple of times and took a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you this week, Ben.”

“I missed you too, B.,” Benny kept his eyes on Bad Cop’s face. “Man, I am _not_ used to this. I’ve never had to leave someone down here before. And they told us at today’s briefing _you_ took over launch security. That was news to me.”

Bad Cop shuffled his feet. “I did.”

“That’s not your responsibility as police chief, is it?”

“It wasn’t before, no.”

Benny furrowed his brow. “That’s a _hell_ of a lot on your plate. You must be exhausted. Y’know, we’ve been launching for decades with our own internal security measures. It’s pretty clockwork. Why so concerned, B.?”

“I’ve never had so much to lose.”

“We’ll be _fine_ , B. _I’ll_ be fine.” said Benny assuredly.

“I’d like to make absolutely sure of that, thank you.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“Get used to it, Ben.”

Benny’s smile bloomed. “I’m looking forward to that, actually.”

Retort dying on his lips, Bad Cop grinned stupidly and examined his shoes.

“I have a present for you,” said Benny, slyly.

“For me?”

“Yeah. Slightly used, though. Come over here.”

Benny cranked open a window by the treadmills, and a moment later he was tugging the NASA shirt off over his head.

The sight of Benny suddenly bare-chested caught Bad Cop entirely off guard, his mind quickly recalling in great detail every dip and curve of Benny’s flesh from the last time they’d met. One precious night spent at Benny’s apartment. He felt his ears redden. Benny grinned and kept talking.

“The space agency always has these cool mission tee-shirts made up for us. They hand them out the day before launch. We all get one: engineers, Mission Control, and astronauts. I don’t know why, but the astronauts always get last dibs on ‘em. Probably to keep our heads from getting too big.” Benny looked at the shirt in his hands and laughed. “Anyway, I was having my final physical this morning when these came around for the crew. By the time I got back upstairs, there was one blue one left and of course it’s too big for me. Murphy’s Law.”

Benny held it up for Bad Cop to see, “But I think it would fit you perfectly.”

Bad Cop nodded, a slow smile spreading. “I think you’re right.”

“Then I want you to have it. Here, B.” Benny pushed the shirt through the opening in the window.

Bad Cop unfolded it, held it up against his chest. “This is great, Ben,” he beamed. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been wearing it all day, so it’s probably kinda stinky. ‘Eau de Ben.’ Sorry ‘bout that.” Benny quirked his lip, clearly not sorry at all.

Bad Cop shook his head. “No, no, that’s alright. That’s…actually, that’s perfect.” His smile turned shy.

Benny watched him in silence for a few moments. Then let out a sigh, frustrated.

“Oh man, I’ve never wanted to break quarantine so badly,” Benny’s fingers curled temptingly around the edge of the open window. “I just want to hold your hand for a little while, B. Maybe we could just—“

Bad Cop stepped quickly back from the window, out of reach, his jaw set. “No. Absolutely not. You are going into space tomorrow, Ben, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. I’m sorry.”

Benny’s smile slipped a little, but his eyes were full of fondness for Bad Cop.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. The steady voice of reason.”

Bad Cop snorted. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Benny hugged himself around the ribs. “Ugh. They’ve got the AC cranked up in here. Freezing. I gotta get a shirt on. And we both need sleep, I think.”

“Yes.” Bad Cop agreed, “Although the view _is_ spectacular tonight.”

Benny struck a beefcake pose and laughed.

“I’m glad you came by. I’ll see you in the morning, B. For a minute or two, anyway.”

“You will indeed.”

“’Night!”

“’Night.”

Bad Cop watched Benny head back into the heart of the building, watched the lights go out on the ground floor, one by one. He waited to see Benny’s silhouette at the window. Benny appeared, gave a tiny wave, and then there was darkness. He watched a moment or two more. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Just to be sure.

Exhaustion settled on Bad Cop like a blanket as he climbed into his car, carefully setting Benny’s NASA shirt down on the seat beside him. He pressed his head back into the headrest, scrubbed his hands over his face. He fished a beat-up pack of cigarettes from his duty jacket, turned the engine over and pushed the dashboard cigarette lighter in to heat.

It would be a long damn drive home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Launch day.

Bad Cop had been atop the observation gantry for more than two hours, field glasses pressed to his face, eyes trained on the massive Delta IV Heavy rocket smoking ominously on the pad. His arms were beginning to quiver and his eyes felt dusted with grit. But Control had just called for the end of the T-20 hold, so less than twenty minutes now. Nearly the end of a very long morning.

He’d given up on sleep at 2:00. Every time he closed his eyes he saw rockets in flames: on the launchpad, in the sky, dropping into the sea. Burning rockets, over and over.

With nowhere else to go he’d driven to the space center, the sky still dark as tar. He’d been the only one there from the security detail—they weren’t due to report for hours. He sat alone in the Operations and Checkout building rereading his schedule notes until he could recite them verbatim. He’d closed every conceivable security loophole. A mosquito couldn’t get through without two forms of ID.

He’d been surprised to learn what a momentous mission this was; Benny had been so humble about his role in it all. It was the first manned mission for the orbiter, Vega. And she was largely Benny’s creation. He had completely re-engineered the crew module, so that it could be configured for both low Earth orbit and deep space missions. It was universally acknowledged as a brilliant and inspired redesign. Test flights had been wildly successful. And now the time had come for her designer to step onboard as Flight Engineer. The call sign for the crew module had been redesignated “Bluebird” for the duration of the mission. It was Benny’s time to shine.

Bad Cop had made sure he was among the seven officers assigned to escort the astronauts to the launchpad tram. As the countdown clock ticked away, the crowd grew, and the press of people made Bad Cop increasingly nervous. He wanted an eye on Benny at all times when he was in the open.

At three hours to launch, the doors to the Operations and Checkout building had swung open in dramatic fashion and the five astronauts stepped out. And there was Benny, resplendent in his orange launch-and-reentry flight suit, radiating excitement, smile a mile wide. The crew paused to wave at the gathered crowd and Bad Cop caught a glimpse of his father’s watch snug around Benny’s wrist. He’d had to swallow hard at that.

It was a short distance to the tram, but Bad Cop had been able to steal a moment with Benny, walking by his side while scanning the crowd for anything amiss. Benny’d given him a fresh little wink and chirruped “Hi there, Chief.” And Bad Cop had flashed his very best smile. A moment later, Benny was climbing into the tram with his crew, throwing Bad Cop a small, silly salute and mouthing “Take care, B.” A vast sea of people surrounded the tram waving, cheering, but Benny’s eyes were only on him. Only on _him_. And then the tram doors slid shut and Benny was gone. Off to the rocket, looming in the distance.

It had all gone as planned, not a single officer reporting security trouble of any kind, not a suspicious soul to be found. One lost kid, one lady who stepped off a curb and twisted her ankle, one old guy with sunstroke. That was it. And so Bad Cop had headed off to the observation gantry for the final stage of the launch; his officers scattered to the viewing stations and platforms across the campus.

Fifteen minutes now to launch. Vapor rose in clouds from the three enormous engines and their bright orange boosters, each one twelve stories tall and brimming with rocket fuel. A trio of bombs awaiting ignition. From a distance, though, they looked positively benign; they reminded Bad Cop of three orange crayons upright in a box. According to Benny, every drop of those three boosters’ worth of fuel was needed to break gravity’s grip and lift Vega into orbit. And all of it would be used up within minutes after launch. The two huge outside boosters would slough off and fall back, empty, to earth. The middle core booster would last only a few minutes more, and then it too would fall away from the spacecraft.

The crew was perched atop the entire setup, on the middle core booster, resting against their service module, strapped into the crew module capsule. Five astronauts crammed into 300 square feet of living space. In orbit, with their service module attached, they would have a few hundred more square feet at their disposal. But conditions were tight regardless. Benny liked to say there was no such thing as a claustrophobic astronaut.

When the time came to return to Earth, they’d jettison their service module and reenter the atmosphere in the capsule, as the Apollo astronauts had done fifty years before. Benny confessed he was looking forward to this part: a splashdown and sea recovery in a capsule, just like his childhood heroes.

The T-9 minute hold ended. Bad Cop’s communication feed from Mission Control suddenly became sterile, businesslike. No more room for levity. Occasionally he could hear CAPCOM speaking with the astronauts. And Benny’s voice, so sure, so in control, running through a complex launch checklist with the commander and pilot.

T-5 minutes came and went. The rocket on the pad was billowing vapor now, great rolling fogs of it obscuring the boosters. The crew module looked tiny and fragile atop the smoking monster below. Bad Cop scrutinized the Launch Abort System affixed to the cone of the crew module. It suddenly seemed flimsy, unreliable.

T-90 seconds. The voice of the Launch Director overrode all other communications as he addressed the crew directly: “Vega, close and lock your visors, initiate O2 flow, have a good flight.” And the crackly reply: “Roger that, Control.”

Bad Cop’s heart was hammering a hole in his chest.

With a terrifying, cartwheeling fireball of flame, the triple engines ignited. The gantry shook and the sound was skull-splitting. For a moment the Delta IV remained motionless on the pad, fire seething around its base. But then slowly, slowly it began to creep skyward, the service arms from the launch tower swinging away as it rose. The roar and the vibration from the rocket engines rattled Bad Cop’s ribcage, thundered through his entire body. Molten, burning propellant spewed from the engines: three hellish, gargantuan blowtorches. The site was completely enveloped in a plume of smoke, rolling out and upwards for hundreds of feet, dimming the sun. From the top of the plume the Delta IV rose, steady and straight, clearing the top of the tower quickly. Bad Cop watched, heart in his throat, as the rocket climbed higher and higher, faster and faster into the sky.

Soon he could no longer see the craft through his field glasses. He strained to understand the chatter on the Mission Control communications loop, between the crew and CAPCOM. The language was completely unfamiliar to him, nothing like the police frequency. He hung on every word, trying to puzzle it all out.

Eight tense minutes passed before the pilot’s voice proclaimed, “Orbital maneuvering system burn number two cut-off. We have achieved orbit, over,” and Control erupted into raucous cheers.

They’d made it.

Bad Cop sank down into a folding chair, pulled the headset from his ears, and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

They’d made it.

All of his careful planning. All of the late nights and early mornings at the space center drilling the new launch security measures. The packs of cigarettes, the pounds of coffee, the unwashed laundry, the neglected dishes. All of it worthwhile now because Benny was in space, and safe.

Benny was safe.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life without Benny is hard. Benny sends Bad Cop space selfies. Bad Cop loses sleep

Bad Cop was not a morning person. He’d completely obliterated five cell phones in the past year, flinging them into the wall while half-asleep, enraged at their alarms. But mornings had become something to look forward to with Benny in space: precisely two minutes after his hated alarm, without fail, came a text from Benny.

It boggled Bad Cop how easy communication was between them, despite the massive distance. IP phone, email, messaging, all worked seamlessly. Gone, apparently, were the days of pure radio communication between Earth and astronauts.

The technology let them settle into a comfortable daily routine together. The day started with Benny’s text, followed by five minutes of back-and-forth banter: terrible puns, ruthless teasing, and Benny’s increasingly shameless flirting, punctuated by Bad Cop’s token grumbly comments about this or that. It made waking worthwhile to have a few drowsy minutes alone with Benny before the reality of the day set in.

By noon every day Benny already had several hours of spacewalks and engineering projects behind him. Bad Cop would settle down to lunch with his phone and peruse a flood of photos waiting in his inbox detailing Benny’s morning. Although an impatient and haphazard photographer, Benny had an uncanny eye for the elegance of space, and the photos he sent back to Bad Cop were breathtaking.

Bad Cop had always imagined space as a trackless, lonely frontier, straight from the sci-fi movies he’d watched as a kid. But space through Benny’s eyes was a vibrant, colorful, thrilling place. Dangerous still, but brimming with wonder and beauty. Most of the photos he sent back were of the Earth from above. Vast, white, pinwheeling storms on the sea.  Red-ribbed mountain ranges frosted delicately with snow. Aquamarine rivers ribboning through caramel-colored canyons. Even Bricksburg, softly aglow at dusk.

In typical form, Benny always ended the photoset with a ridiculous selfie. Bare-chested and grinning, wearing just the bottom half of his spacesuit. Floating upside down in star-spangled boxers, headphones on. Sipping delicately through a straw from a pouch labeled “URINE: NON POTABLE.” Something sure to make Bad Cop laugh, or blush, or both. Usually both. Benny’s selfies alone carried Bad Cop through many tedious afternoons at the precinct.

Every few days Benny had a turn with the IP phone, and he and Bad Cop spent a full hour on video chat. Benny had taken to calling it “date night,” and Bad Cop didn’t refute it. Benny did most of the talking. Bad Cop didn’t mind. Benny was in his element, and his excitement made everything he had to say interesting.

As Flight Engineer, and one of the most experienced astronauts on the crew, Benny had been chosen to make the delicate repairs on the station’s ailing exterior robotic arm. It had taken him the better part of ten days—a spacewalk every morning—but he’d been successful. In the end he’d racked up more hours outside the station than any other astronaut in the history of the program. And he’d loved every moment he’d been alone outside the craft in the blackness, dangling upside down above the blue dome of the Earth, feet to the heavens. Bad Cop had never seen him clearer, calmer, prouder, happier.

The days peppered with communications from Benny were bright for Bad Cop; he had moments to look forward to. But night brought nightmares, the most vivid he’d had in years. And the longer Benny was away, the more terrifying they became. Burning rockets hurtling into the ocean. Astronauts, untethered, floating away into the void. Spaceships imploding noiselessly in the vacuum of space. Bad Cop stopped sleeping at night all together when the nightmares expanded to include him: back in Business’ office at the top of Octan Tower, tied hand and foot to a chair in front of the huge windows, watching _Vega_ plummet from the sky, parachuteless, over and over and over in a ceaseless loop.

Bad Cop ran into Lucy and Emmet at the coffee shop after a solid week of living on cat naps. In a moment of weakness and exhaustion, he spilled the entire story to them: Benny, his run-in with Business, the launch, Benny’s mission, the nightmares, all of it. Lucy hustled him home then and there and knocked him out with a tranquilizer tablet. And Emmet texted Benny to gently berate him for not spilling the beans about the two of them earlier.

If Bad Cop was honest, it was a relief to have someone else share the burden of his anxieties, even if Lucy thought he was overreacting about Business and Emmet ribbed him constantly about his “romance.” But restful sleep was still fleeting; and he had a feeling it would be until Benny was back on solid ground.

Two more weeks to go.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop checks on Benny’s apartment. The past is unavoidable.

Bad Cop opened the door into darkness. An empty apartment. As if he needed a reminder. He flicked the lights in the entryway and fumbled into the half-light of the living room. He turned on the table lamp there and looked around. He’d told Benny he’d come by to check on things, but it was surreal being there without him. Somehow it didn’t make sense that all this could exist in his absence.

But there was the butcher-block table where they’d had breakfast together weeks ago. There was the overstuffed couch, pillows still wildly askew from their lovemaking. One cushion was still on the floor, half-hidden under the coffee table. Bad Cop picked it up to put it back and found Benny’s necktie crumpled underneath. The sight of it suddenly made Benny feel very far away. He twined the tie around his fingers and turned to take in the details of the room he’d been much too pleasantly distracted to notice the last time he was there.

Benny had a lot of stuff. Trinkets and souvenirs everywhere, on every surface. All neatly arranged and carefully tended. The place had the feel of a cabinet of curiosities. On the windowsill Benny had a collection of strange little cacti and succulents planted tenderly in soil-filled spacecraft parts. In the corner of the room he’d set up his turntable, flanked by a record cabinet made from a repurposed airline drink cart.

The kitsch spread up the walls. Vintage framed sci-fi B-movie posters hung there: _Forbidden Planet, The Day the Earth Stood Still, It Came from Outer Space, Project Moonbase_. The far wall on the other side of couch was taken up entirely with photographs. It seemed a quaint, old-fashioned thing to do, to hang treasured photographs on the wall. So like Benny. Bad Cop went over to have a look.

On the left side of the wall of photographs were group shots of astronauts. Whole crews, he guessed. In some photos they wore orange flight suits, in others, blue flight suits. A few photos showed the crews wearing their spacesuits, holding their helmets. All smiling. Pride and excitement in their eyes.

It didn’t take much work to find a younger Benny in each photo, gangly-limbed then, his hair an even more intense red. Bad Cop studied him. His smile was different in the pictures. Newer, brighter.

On the right side of the wall hung a series of professional photographic portraits: astronauts with vaguely familiar faces in air force dress uniforms. Bad Cop counted fifteen of them. Benny’s close friends, he imagined. He sidled in close to the portraits to examine them.

They weren’t new photographs. A decade or so old, judging from the women’s hairstyles. As he leaned closer, he noticed the frames all bore tiny brass plates engraved with names. It was an oddly formal detail. Bad Cop pulled off his aviators for a better look. Each plate had a name; below that, a date. And under the date three letters: MIA. _Missing in action_. That puzzled him. All the dates were different. Bad Cop couldn’t recall that many accidents logged by the space program in the past ten years. And surely if there had been a crash, at least a few of the dates would match. But even then—why ‘missing in action?’

Then, suddenly, he knew.

His heart began to pound.

They were Master Builders. All of them.

And they were _his_ takes.

He sank down onto the carpet, head spinning.

They weren’t missing in action.

They were _dead_.

Bad Cop remembered interrogating astronauts. They were fearless. Accustomed to looking mortality full in the face. Unreadable. Unwilling to give an inch. The ones with military training were always the hardest, the last to break. They required additional pressure. Sometimes he’d pressed too hard. They hid discomfort well, forced him to work blind.

There’d been very little left of any of them when he’d finished.

And it would have been the same with Benny. The same techniques. He’d have extracted what he needed and discarded the rest. Benny, so smart and sly and perfectly ridiculous. Wonderful Benny. He’d have broken him, too.

His hands began to shake. The tremor spread through his entire body. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stand, couldn’t move from where he crouched. Fifteen murdered astronauts watched silently as Bad Cop curled up on the floor against the back of the couch, and wept until he cried himself empty.

His phone buzzed, neglected, from the inner pocket of his duty jacket, hung over a kitchen chair.

It was near dawn before he had enough strength to crawl over and retrieve it.

_Hey B just saying good night_

_i miss you bad_

_cant wait to see you :)_

_be home real soon_


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny comes home.

The recovery vessel, a huge, low-slung Landing Platform-Dock ship, rose and fell gently in the sea. Three rescue rafts, all Zodiacs, were already in the water, two crew members and one Navy diver ready to deploy. From where he stood on the flight deck, Bad Cop could see no fewer than seven personnel with field glasses to the sky, waiting, watching for the capsule. Benny was coming home today.

Bad Cop had talked his way into the recovery operation. It hadn’t been easy. But the space agency had pulled some strings, called in some favors from the Navy—Bad Cop had a suspicion Benny had a hand in it somewhere—and now here he was on the desk of the recovery ship, trying his hardest to be both potentially useful and entirely out of the way. Honestly, he’d have stood in a broom closet if they’d asked him to. Anything to be there. He wasn’t going to miss this for the world.

A few hand-picked members of the media had been allowed on the ship as well. They were confined to a cabin on the mezzanine, and had been instructed to stay inside. Bad Cop could see their miserable faces pressed against the cabin windows, hoping for a glimpse of anything momentous. They’d already had a busy morning, breaking a news story that threatened to overshadow the return of the astronauts.

Business had crawled out of the woodwork that morning to bestow a massive private gift of millions of dollars upon the space program. Lucy was convinced it was a publicity stunt. She told Bad Cop as much, as he dropped her and Emmet off at the naval yard where a crowd was already gathering to welcome home the astronauts. It was a way for Business to siphon off all the interest sparked by the _Vega_ mission and transfer it directly to himself. He’d made many attempts to rebrand himself as a philanthropist following the Rebellion, all of them failures. Lucy was sure this was just one more.

Bad Cop had just nodded. He didn’t tell her what he really thought: that this was a message only for him, a reminder of Business’ easy control over Benny’s world. It would be just like Business to drop millions purely to watch Bad Cop writhe. But he didn’t say any of that. He knew it sounded paranoid, ridiculous. So he tried to put it out of his mind, at least for the moment. The only person today was about, as far as Bad Cop was concerned, was Benny.

It was a gorgeous day to be on the ocean: crystalline blue sky, warm sun, hardly a breeze. It _felt_ like a holiday. Flags were flying in the city, and fireworks were planned for later in the evening when the astronauts were back on land. The networks were running endless tv specials chronicling the mission. _Vega_ had gotten folks excited about space exploration once again, and proud of Bricksburg’s contribution to it. One more sign of the community healing in the aftermath of T.A.K.O.S. Tuesday.

Suddenly the ship-wide loudspeakers blared: _“RECOVERY TARGET INCOMING—STATIONS, ALL PERSONNEL.”_

It caught Bad Cop off-guard. He hadn’t been offered any means to access communications updates when he’d come on board. And, unwilling to make demands on the favor, he hadn’t asked. So much of his daily life was narrated by radio chatter, it was disorienting to be surprised by information.

He edged over to a sailor with field glasses to the sky.

“See anything?”

The sailor didn’t move a muscle. “Not yet.”

Bad Cop shaded his eyes and looked up in the same direction. Wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. He’d seen footage from the Gemini and Apollo missions of capsules floating back to earth, parachutes trailing out behind. He assumed it would be a similar set up for _Vega_. Benny was so excited about the splashdown. He’d gabbed about nothing else for two straight days: landing dramatically in a capsule on the sea, just like his childhood space heroes. Never mind that silly shuttle, that oversized airplane—THIS was the cool way to return from space, according to Ben.

But, much to Benny’s chagrin, this retro-style return had been toned down for the sake of safety. Though it had been routine for the Gemini and Apollo astronauts to exit the capsules and climb into rescue rafts right on the open, rolling sea, the space agency had determined this was unnecessarily dangerous. Especially for crew members who’d been in a micro-gravity climate for weeks. Limbs were suddenly heavy and unreliable under the pull of earth’s gravity. So there’d be no scrambling dramatically from the capsule this time. The Zodiacs would tow the capsule, astronauts strapped safely inside, into the well deck of the LPD recovery ship. The crew would disembark the capsule on board. It made perfect sense, but Benny was still deeply grumpy about it.

A sudden collective murmur rose from the personnel on the flight deck.

“There she is,” said the sailor beside him.

Bad Cop strained to see, cursing his bad eye. But then, yes, a spot of orange there in the sky—the parachutes. He was momentarily surprised that the Zodiacs hadn’t started in the direction of the landing zone, but figured it was part and parcel of the agency’s new safety regulations.

The orange dot became clearer. He could see the two parachutes now, but something was off. The capsule seemed to have an odd spin on it, a wobble as it descended.

“Fuck,” the sailor mumbled. “Too fast.”

“What?” Bad Cop felt a chill rise up his legs.

“Backup chute’s all tangled up with one of the mains.”

“What in the fuck does that mean?”

“Hard landing.” The sailor still looked to the sky. “Goddamn it.”

_“ALL MEDICAL PERSONNEL REPORT TO THE WELL DECK IMMEDIATELY.”_

No. NO. This wasn’t happening.

Bad Cop took off at a full run for the stairs.

The three Zodiacs had come round to the maw of the ship, taking on extra medical crew. Bad Cop charged up to a man carrying an orange med bag preparing to step into a raft.

“Who’re you?” he demanded, looking Bad Cop up and down.

Bad Cop tapped his badge. “Bricksburg Chief of Police. EMT.” He could barely get the words out.

The man tossed the bag into the raft. “Get the fuck in, Chief. We’ll need you.”

Bad Cop pulled off his duty jacket, left it in a heap on the well deck, and clambered into the Zodiac.

The boats shot away from the LPD ship. From the sea they had a clear view of the wheeling, wobbling, out of control capsule in near freefall under the drag of one operational main chute. It was horrific to watch. There was utter silence in the boat, save for the growl of the motor, all eyes fixed on the sky. Closer, closer, closer _Vega_ fell, spinning sickeningly.

The capsule hit the water edge-first, hard, sending up a vast plume of water. It cartwheeled briefly across the surface, its useless chutes tangling into a thick orange roll behind it. The hatches had blown open on impact, and when the capsule at last stopped moving, it began to take on water, quickly.

They were nearly there, nearly there, plowing through a vast debris field of darkened heat shield tiles spun off the capsule. The first Zodiac had reached the foundering craft now, and the rescue diver was already in the water, searching for the crew. They cut their motor and swung around as the shattered capsule loomed.

The man beside Bad Cop opened the med bag and snapped on gloves.

“Get ready, Chief,” he said, looking Bad Cop square in the eye. “This is gonna be bad.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All but one accounted for.

The mangled astronauts in the rafts are screaming, battling against the medics: _GET HIM   GET HIM   HE’S IN THERE GO GET HIM   FOR CHRISSAKE HE’S STILL IN THERE._ They’re awash in blood and seawater, limbs askew and settled in unnatural positions and still they’re screaming for their engineer.

Bad Cop doesn’t wait for the last diver, doesn’t care what’s safe anymore because nothing is. Nothing fucking is.

He’s in the water before they can haul him away from the edge.

The waves are dunking the capsule like a massive buoy: air and sea, air and sea, and in the sea there’s nothing but darkness and cold. He’s always been a strong swimmer but this is something else entirely. He can’t catch regular breaths, doesn’t know when to breathe, swallows mouthfuls of salt water, the taste of tears.

He’s groping in the dark along the walls of the capsule, doesn’t know where he’s going. Nothing here is familiar. He slides along the outside of the cone, blind and blinded.

There’s nothing, nothing, nothing, and the image of Benny, alone, sinking down into the dark hits him like a hammer to the chest. He thinks about taking one heavy deep breath of water to join him below because life above without him would be nothing, nothing, nothing, and then there’s

something

something soft, and he knows that body; he memorized every inch of it with hands and lips and tongue.

Benny.

He’s caught on the underside of the capsule, unconscious, dangling by his arm above the dark void of the sea.

Bad Cop pulls at him frantically. He’s not moving and Bad Cop’s lungs are ready to burst. He fumbles for Benny’s wrist. By some miracle Benny’s snagged there. Bad Cop feels his father’s wristwatch, hung up on a broken bolt.

He unclasps the watch. It sinks into the black and Benny is free. He puts his arms around Benny and pushes them both to the surface.

Back into the light.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny unbowed.

Bad Cop slouched in the plastic waiting room chair, unable to get comfortable. His arms, his shoulders were on fire. It had taken thirty-five full minutes of CPR, but they’d finally gotten a pulse from Benny. In mid-air, no less, strapped inside a LifeFlight chopper. Just like Benny to come alive in the sky. He was breathing on his own, though raggedly, when they reached the ER, and had even managed to open an eye on command before they wheeled him away into the trauma bay.

Bad Cop shifted gingerly. He’d insisted on performing the chest compressions himself, wouldn’t let anyone take over. He’d felt several of Benny’s ribs give under his hands. He told himself they’d probably already been fractured by his safety harness on impact. It made him positively sick to his stomach to think that he had hurt Benny, but the glorious feeling of that pulse pounding back into rhythm beneath his fingers was well worth a handful of cracked ribs.

They’d been trying to stabilize him for almost an hour. Benny had quietly made Bad Cop his medical proxy just before launch, insuring he’d have access should the worst happen. And the doctors hadn’t called for him to make any decisions on Benny’s behalf, so that was a small comfort.

The other four astronauts were here as well, though they’d all been in much better shape than Benny when they came in. Terribly broken limbs and ribs, mostly. Concussions, contusions. Some internal injuries. They’d already been moved to rooms or to surgery.

The crew’s onboard safety harnesses had held them til the last. When the capsule rolled on impact the astronauts had been torn out the blown hatches into the sea. But not a single death.

The television reporters were calling it the Miraculous Mission. Nothing but footage of the rescue was playing on the tv in the waiting room, over and over. If he turned his head, Bad Cop could see the media crushed together on the sidewalk outside the hospital, desperate to get their hands on the crew, on him. Security was keeping them out. He was incredibly thankful for that. No one bothered him, and he could sit and stare at the room where they were working on Benny. He had to keep track of Benny.

There was a rush of air as the doors to the ER slid open behind him. He groaned. The privacy had been nice while it lasted. He braced himself for the onslaught. Instead, Emmet and Lucy came hustling up to him. He’d never been so thankful to see them.

“Hey, B.”

Bad Cop tried to straighten in his chair. His shoulders thrummed with pain. “Hey.”

Lucy set a pile of folded clothes in his lap.

“We stopped by your place to get you some clean things. Figured you were pretty salty.”

He clutched the clothes, nodded gratefully.

“Also, a new pair of these.” Lucy pressed a pair of aviators into his hand. Relief washed over him. His others were long gone, at the bottom of the sea. He slipped them on, met Lucy’s gaze.

“Thank you.”

She touched his arm with fingertips, settled into the chair next to him.

“Where do they have Benny?” Emmet slid into the chair on the other side.

“Still in Trauma. They’re working away on him.” Bad Cop tried his best to keep his voice level. It was unexpectedly difficult. He stood slowly, painfully, eyes burning behind his sunglasses. “I’m gonna change clothes and clean up a bit.” He pointed towards the trauma bay. “Will you—?”

“Go ahead.” Lucy waved him away gently. “Take a little break. We’ll make sure they know where you went. And if they move Benny we’ll find out where he goes.”

“Thanks.”

Bad Cop limped out of the waiting room. He hunted down a quiet hospital corridor and found a bathroom, locked himself inside. He turned on the sink as high as it would go, soaked his face with cold water, and finally let himself fall to pieces.

*************************

“He’s right in here, sir.” The nurse knocked twice—a bizarre formality—and pushed the door open for Bad Cop.

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped in. The door shut softly behind him.

The room was dimly lit. It smelled strongly of old blood and antiseptic. His stomach lurched. In the far end of the room, a barrage of pinging, beeping machines encircled a tidy, white-sheeted bed. And under a Medusa’s knot of tubes and fluid lines and tape, was Benny, motionless, eyes closed. He looked painfully small. Bad Cop swallowed hard and approached his bedside.

Benny’s left arm from shoulder to wrist was splinted and bandaged. Bad Cop knew Benny’s shoulder had to be dislocated at the very least, and Benny’s radius was broken for sure; he’d felt the bones grind together as he’d worked to free him beneath the capsule. Benny’s entire body was covered in horrifying abrasions held together with Steri-Strips, and his skin bloomed with bruises. Dried blood ringed his swollen, broken nose beneath deeply purpled eye sockets. Benny was intubated still. Bad Cop found the whirr of the respirator as it breathed for Benny strangely comforting.

He realized he had never seen him so still. It jarred him.

“Benny,” he whispered.

To his surprise, blue eyes suddenly flew open, focused immediately on his face. Benny’s ocular capillaries had burst, reddening the whites of his eyes. Bloody tears crusted in the corners. He tried to move, to speak. Bad Cop felt his chest lighten. He was still feisty Benny, a welcome sign.

Bad Cop gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, quieting him.

“Hush, Ben. Lie still now.”

Benny did as he was told. But those eyes kept staring, staring. Not moving from Bad Cop’s face. Bad Cop heard him loud and clear.

Impulsively, he bent down and placed a kiss on Benny’s bruised, stubbled jaw. Benny was wonderfully warm beneath his lips. So very much alive. He tugged a chair up to the bedside and took Benny’s unbandaged hand in both of his, ran his thumbs over Benny’s knuckles. Benny squeezed his fingers back with surprising strength. Such a spitfire, even now, even after everything. Smiling, Bad Cop took off his aviators and swiped at his eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re home, Ben.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny heals. Bad Cop does not.

Bad Cop flung open his apartment door, threw his keys in a jangly heap on the kitchen countertop, violently kicked the door shut behind him. He set all four locks, turned, chucked his cap into the armchair. Stalked into the kitchen. He contemplated pouring himself a glass of Jameson, but decided it wasn’t worth dirtying a glass. He took the bottle to the couch instead. He shrugged off his duty jacket, shoved it into one end of the couch, and took a long pull from the bottle.

It had begun, deceptively, as a good day. He’d been able to get in early to see Benny, caught him right after a bath. Benny was in wonderful spirits just a week following the accident. He’d been taken off the respirator after only two days, and his vitals had improved enough that he’d already had surgery on his left arm: a rotator cuff repair and seven screws to get his shattered radius back together.

“So much for my fastball,” he’d mugged drunkenly in the recovery suite. “Guess I’m a location pitcher now.”

They’d had him up and walking around the ward as soon as he was breathing on his own. A partially torn ACL would need attention eventually, but he was getting along well with a knee brace. The only true complications had been broken ribs and mild pneumonia in both lungs, though neither issue had been unexpected. All told, he was healing at an impressive clip.

That morning Benny’d invited Bad Cop to take “a rejuvenating limp around the ward” with him. They’d talked about this and that, traded terrible puns. By the time they got back to Benny’s room Benny’d walked so far and laughed so hard he’d had to lean on Bad Cop, hold his ribs, and cough for several minutes. Two nurses eventually appeared to haul him back to bed. One couldn’t resist scolding Bad Cop as she brushed by him.

“You shouldn’t let him overexert himself like that,” she’d chided, shrewish.

Bad Cop snorted. “As if he’d listen to me.”

And Benny’d piped up from the bed: “Never listened to him before, why start now?”

He’d waited until the nurses fussed their way out of the room before giving Benny a proper, private goodbye. Benny’d lost a few teeth in the accident, but somehow it made him look even more roguishly handsome when he smiled. And he’d been smiling a lot at Bad Cop since his return.

Bad Cop took another long drink from the bottle, felt the warmth of the alcohol spread through his limbs. He had hoped a morning with Benny would be enough to get him through what had promised to be a particularly onerous afternoon managing security for a press conference called by Business.

He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get roped into that miserable mess. Nothing ever changed. Business was greyer, older, but at the podium, with his charm turned all the way up and his black shark eyes gleaming, it could have been the old regime all over again.

The press conference was ostensibly to assure the space agency and the public that Business planned to honor his promised donation despite the _Vega_ accident. But it looked to Bad Cop like yet another greasy ploy by Business to paint himself as the hero of Bricksburg. It turned his stomach, frankly. And there was another, more sinister layer if he thought about it. The cash gift would be a perfect cover. It would distance Business from any suspicion of wrongdoing in connection with the accident. It was a bit ham-fisted, but it would be effective. Typical Business.

Bad Cop had been able to tune out most of Business’ noise during the conference. He focused on scanning the crowd, listening to the BPD frequency drone on his earpiece. He was amazed by how many citizens were in attendance. Business’ reputation was cooling off. Five years after T.A.K.O.S. Tuesday, he was increasingly seen as a benign, washed-up politician, not the dictator he’d been. At worst, a gentleman gangster. Memory was softening his edges. And that shift worried Bad Cop.

He’d startled embarrassingly when the officer beside him leaned in to get his attention: “Chief?”

“What’s the matter?” he answered gruffly, irritated.

The officer gestured with his thumb above their heads to the top of the dais. Bad Cop looked up, hesitant. His stomach dropped. Business was waving for him to come up to the podium, with a rictus like a corpse. Bad Cop glanced out at the crowd: all eyes on him.

He’d pulled himself together and climbed the steps to the dais feeling leaden-limbed, like he was moving underwater. He came to a halt precisely four feet to the side of Business; hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward. Old habits. He watched with interest as some in the crowd shifted their gaze nervously from Business to him and back again. The familiar tableau of the former regime, reassembling before their eyes. He’d wanted to step away, to break the connection, but found he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t cooperate; he stood rooted to the spot. Old habits.

And then Business’ arm was snaking unexpectedly around Bad Cop’s waist, pulling him closer to the podium. He allowed himself to be shuffled right, zombie-like, until he was shoulder to shoulder with Business. The hand settled low, beneath the small of his back.

“Flight Engineer Blue owes his life to this guy right here,” Business warbled. “Your own Bricksburg police chief dove right into the ocean after him without a thought for himself. Can you imagine that? To me that shows his _deep commitment_ ”—Business paused overly long, painfully long—”to his job as a civil servant.”

Bad Cop’s knees were suddenly unsteady. He concentrated hard on the bead of sweat trickling slowly down the side of his face. His proximity to Business was dizzying.

“But what happens next time?” Business continued. “Will the chief be able to rescue Engineer Blue every time something goes wrong on a mission?”

Business paused another beat, turned his head a minuscule amount towards Bad Cop.

“ _No_. No he will _not_.’

Fingers dug hard into Bad Cop’s back. He flinched, despite himself. The fingers pressed in deeper, harder.

“So, we’ve got to make sure there’s no ‘next time.’ The space program’s focus has to be on safety, and my gift will ensure the safety of our astronauts on future missions. And hey, can we get a nice round of applause for this guy? Champion of astronauts everywhere!”

The room was filled instantly with polite applause. Business spun Bad Cop at the waist to face him, thrust his hand into Bad Cop’s. Cameras snapped from every direction, documenting the reunion.

“Be careful out there,” Business smirked and turned away after a few moments, leaving Bad Cop alone on the dais above a quickly-emptying room. Business didn’t look back.

Bad Cop set the bottle down on the coffee table hard, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. There was no escaping it now. Business had a target on Benny. And the longer Bad Cop ignored it, the more danger Benny was in. They’d been lucky—vastly, incredibly, _unbelievably_ lucky—this time. But Business rarely missed a mark the second time; his pride wouldn’t allow it.

Benny was a dead man as long as Bad Cop was near him.

  
Something had to give.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farewell love.

It had taken seven minutes short of an hour and nearly a whole pack of smokes just to get from the parking garage into the hospital. Bad Cop was in rough shape, more hungover than he’d been in years. His stomach pitched with every movement, and it felt like a jackhammer had been set loose in his head. He’d tried hard to spruce himself up that morning despite it all: shave, shower, clean clothes. For Ben. Benny deserved that at least.

The elevator ride up to Benny’s ward was interminable. By the grace of God he’d been alone in it. He’d gotten a good long look at himself in the mirrored walls and had to turn away in disgust before the elevator reached Benny’s floor. Pale from nausea, sunken, reddened eyes. He looked like a dying man. How alive he’d felt only a few short months ago. Even the mechanical chime of the elevator doors sounded sinister today.

Bad Cop shuffled down the long hallway to Benny’s room. The antiseptic-rotten smell of the hospital settled thick in his nose. He’d have it with him all day, on his skin, in his hair, in his clothes. Reminding him. Another wave of nausea overtook him and he ducked into a bathroom. Barely made it. After, he had to cup cold water against his face for several minutes before he could stand fully upright. He composed himself as best he could and headed back into the hall.

Bad Cop arrived at the door to Benny’s room and paused just outside. Read his name card over and over until his eyes swam. Against every expectation, Benny was alive. Broken, bruised, but alive. That great big heart still beat. The world needed Benny. Benny had to live.

Bad Cop knocked softly on the open door.

“C’mon in!”

Benny’s cheerful voice was like a hot knife in Bad Cop’s belly. He hated himself, hated this moment, hated, hated, hated. He peered around the doorframe into the room, as he had twice a day, every day, for a week.

“It’s me.”

“Hi B.!” Benny was sitting up in bed, his red hair mussed from sleep, busily attacking a bowl of Jello. “Want some? It’s raspberry. I know it’s your favorite.” He offered the spoon to Bad Cop, grinning.

“No thank you.” Bad Cop sat down on the bed, ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t even look at Benny, felt like he was going to be sick again.

Heavy silence settled between them. Benny was no fool. He set down his spoon and pushed the tray away, brow furrowed.

“What’s the matter? Something’s wrong.”

Bad Cop hung his pounding head, pressed his eyeballs with the sides of his thumbs. He took a deep breath and released it. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t get the words out. Fucking coward.

“What’s going on?” Nerves made Benny’s voice suddenly tinny.

He had to do it. Had to get it over with.

“Benny, we need to talk.”

What a fucking line. There would be no dialogue. He despised himself for saying it.

Benny was quiet now. He knew. Oh God, he knew.

Words tumbled out as Bad Cop tried to fill the horrible silence. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“We can’t do…what?”

“You and me. We can’t.” Bad Cop kept his eyes down, studied his hands, the crooked shapes of badly-healed crudely broken fingers from long ago. Punishment for work poorly done. He couldn’t get ahead of his past, no matter how hard he tried. It still found him. It still fucking found him.

“B., what are you saying?” Benny sounded so utterly baffled, so completely blindsided it made Bad Cop want to put his fist through a window.

He tried to straighten up, to show a little dignity for Ben’s sake.

“Benny, It’s not safe for you to be around me.”

Benny took a moment to think about this. He swallowed hard before speaking.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, B.” Benny laid a warm hand on Bad Cop’s arm. He stared at it and Benny pulled back.

“The accident. That was planned. Because of you and me.”

Benny shook his head, confused.

“The accident with _Vega_? What do you mean it was planned? You’re not making any sense.”

Bad Cop crushed his hands hard into his eye sockets, scraped at his forehead with his nails. The pain inside wanted out.

“Dammit, Benny, you’re not safe around me. I can’t be any more clear. Business will kill you. He almost did. We can’t do this anymore. We can’t.” Bad Cop dropped his hands and stood up.

Benny was confused and getting frustrated, his voice rising. “What does Business have to do with me, with anything? _What are you talking about?_ ”

Bad Cop paused and looked at Benny. Forced himself to really look. Benny’s blue eyes were sharpened with pain. Bad Cop softened his voice, tried to be gentle.

“I put you in danger. I’m sorry, Benny. I should never have allowed this to happen.”

Benny reached for him with his good arm, urging him to sit.

“B., please don’t do this. Come back here by me. We can figure this out.”

Bad Cop dropped his eyes again.

“Benny, I’m sorry.”

Bad Cop bent down and kissed him. Benny’s mouth was limp against his. He made no effort to return the kiss. Benny quickly pulled away, breathing shallowly, wetly. All of the color was wrung from his face.

“Please, B.”

Bad Cop shook his head. “Benny, I’m sorry,” he repeated. He turned towards the door. The bed creaked as Benny tried, one-armed, to haul himself up and out of it. Benny’s breathing was loud and labored now, coming in gasps.

“Please don’t go. Please _don’t_. _Please don’t leave me, B_.”

Deep, violent coughing overtook him. Bad Cop spun back around. Benny was half out of bed, clutching at his broken ribs, panting, coughing, shuddering with pain and spasms. Spatters of blood began to fall around him on the white sheets.

Bad Cop was suddenly very, very afraid.

“I’m getting a nurse, Ben.”

“No no B.! Please! Please don’t go! Please let’s talk!”

A new round of coughing paralyzed Benny. He was choking up blood in long sticky strings now, unable to breathe, his face contorted with terror.

Bad Cop bolted to the nurses’ station. He watched, horror-struck as they called a code on Benny. Medical personnel flooded into his room. Bad Cop pressed against the wall in the corridor as they worked. He lost all sense of time. Thought only of Benny.

Gradually, he could hear Benny’s coughing subside. And eventually the medical team filed out.

A nurse recognized him and approached him.

“He’ll be alright. Just needs to rest now. You can come back tomorrow.”

Bad Cop nodded his thanks and made his way to the elevator. It was a long walk.

He wouldn’t be back tomorrow. He wouldn’t be back at all. He had to keep Benny safe. Even if it meant breaking his heart.

Benny had to live.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to being stubborn, Bad Cop is a professional.

Bad Cop went straight into the precinct from the hospital, a decision he regretted almost immediately upon arrival. He’d hoped work would take his mind off the morning, and Benny, but from start to finish the workday was pure misery. He was entirely useless, hungover and hurting. The time he didn’t spend dry heaving violently into his waste basket he spent replaying, in excruciating detail, the stricken look on Benny’s face as he’d left his hospital room.

By 2:00 he’d had about all he could handle, and locked up his office. Told the admin he was headed home with the flu. He certainly looked the part.

At his apartment he shoveled five ibuprofen tablets into his mouth, his head ringing like a bell. He sipped a little water and prayed the tablets would stay put in his roiling stomach. Lying down seemed a smart idea. He settled into the couch in his clothes, couldn’t even be arsed to kick off his shoes. Curled in on himself like a snail and waited for sleep.

Sleep, when it came, was riddled with fever dreams: Benny sitting bolt upright and silent in bed, blood running in dark sticky rivulets from his mouth. _Vega_ careening through the sky, trailing tangled orange parachutes. The oily surface of a crimson sea thick with the bobbing bodies of broken astronauts, all of them open-mouthed and staring—all of them with Benny’s eyes. Business’ hand sliding slowly, slowly down the length of Bad Cop’s back, effortlessly raking off his flesh in raw ribbons as it went.

Pounding on his apartment door jarred him from sleep, heart racing, mouth dry, head shot through with spikes of pain. He heaved himself off the couch in a cloud of confusion, grabbed his pistol from where he’d tossed it onto the coffee table. Woozy and weak, he pressed against the wall by the side of the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Me.”

Bad Cop exhaled, quickly undid the four locks and opened the door.

“Lucy.”

“ _Have you lost your fucking mind_?”

“What—“

She charged in towards him from the hallway, eyes dark and angry. He watched her register his gun briefly, but she kept on. He realized her fury was making her brave and he took a step back.

“You walked out on him in the hospital? _Are you kidding me_ _?_ ”

There it was.

He leaned down to set the pistol on the floor by the wall. Sighed.

“You don’t understand.”

“No, _you_ don’t understand, you ass. Do you have any idea the state we found him in after you left? No you don’t. _You have_ _no fucking idea_ _._ ”

Hot, sickening remorse speared him in the gut, but he fought it off. The image of _Vega_ wheeling into the sea, the feeling of Business’ hand at the small of his back, fingers digging in like meat hooks.

“He’s safer if he stays away from me.”

Lucy jabbed hard at her temple with her index finger, leaned in until their chests were nearly touching.

“This is all in your fucking head, B. You are manufacturing this. You need to step the hell back and look at what you’re doing. Because you just broke an amazing guy into a million fucking pieces trying to protect him from a threat that isn’t even real. It’s _not real_.”

“You don’t know Business like I do.” Bad Cop attempted to cross his arms to keep her back, but Lucy pressed in, relentless, fearless.

“Business is fucking _done_ , B. He’s finished. _You’re_ stuck in this loop. It’s the _only_ power he has now and _you’re_ creating it, keeping it alive. You’re doing all the work for him. He just winds you up and off you go. Hell, he doesn’t even have to break a _sweat_ to control the Chief of Police. Just has to show up and act a little menacing.”

That pulled him up short.

But still.

“I can’t risk it.” He shook his head, looked at the floor.

Lucy grabbed two fistfuls of her hair in frustration.

“ _Are you listening to me?_ Is anything I’m saying penetrating your thick damned skull?” She pointed out the door. “Benny is lying in a hospital bed completely ruined because you’re giving Business way more credit than he deserves. He’s rattling your chain. That’s all he _can_ do.”

She dropped her arm. “Get the fuck off the end of Business’ leash, B.”

He kept his eyes to the floor, steadied his stance.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Lucy wheeled away from him and towards the door. When she spoke again, her voice was unnervingly quiet. The rage had gone from her eyes. He saw pity there instead. It turned his stomach.

“I thought you’d moved past this, B. I really did.”

  
And then she was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Cop rebuilds, badly.

Bad Cop dug in and waited for life to level out.

He threw himself into his job, charging through the hated, yellowed stack of paperwork that seemed always to inhabit the corner of his desk. To his amazement, he’d chopped it down by half in a week, and then zeroed it out completely a week later. He’d never been ahead of his work since becoming chief. Never even close to being caught up. So he added a modified patrol beat to his day—just a few hours to get him out and about. He knew it was unheard of for a chief to work a daily beat, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. In the squad car the continuous radio chatter kept his mind from straying too far from the task at hand. It was a needed daytime distraction; he found could get through the days.

But at home, at night, he was haunted.

His phone was eerily silent. The last text Bad Cop received from Benny, weeks before, still sat in his inbox. It had been a spicy little joke about a police officer. Bad Cop couldn’t bear to erase it, but couldn’t bring himself to read it again, either. Lucy had stopped communicating altogether. He’d expected that, but it still stung. Only Emmet persisted in texting him, though erratically. And even Emmet wouldn’t call anymore. Bad Cop knew he was the lowest of the low: a pariah amongst his friends. That paranoid asshole who broke Benny’s heart. And he didn’t disagree with their vitriol. He hated himself soundly as well.

It had been far too easy to slip back into drink. Yet another weakness to shame him. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t take it out of the apartment, that he’d never again carry a flask to work. And he’d stuck to that, for all the good it did him. It was a false sense of control. He was still blotto each night before the end of the 6:30 news, unable to move from where he’d slumped into the couch cushions.

Each evening played out the same way. He’d come home from work, change into his civvies. Start something prepackaged warming in the oven. Pour a glass of booze. Knock it back in two swallows. Pour another glass. Take the bottle and the glass to the couch. Turn on the tv.

The _Vega_ astronauts still dominated the tv news. If the _Vega_ mission had sparked the interest of the public before, the accident had transformed it into something positively iconic. A patriotic rallying point. A symbol of courage and the indomitable spirit. An example of extreme sacrifice for the advance of human knowledge. All of that. A screenwriter couldn’t have composed a more compelling story. And Bad Cop was relieved—and in truth, surprised—to see the great respect shown to the _Vega_ crew, even by the most jaded, hard-lined, skeptical news commentators.

The Miraculous Mission was bringing the city together again. The sudden, pervasive sense of camaraderie reminded him of how the community had rallied together in the horrific aftermath of the Bricksburg Bombing and in the early days of the Rebellion. And Bad Cop found himself now, as then, on the outside of it all, looking in.

City officials had tried to get him to accept an award for service in the line of duty, but he kept ducking their advances. Eventually, blessedly, they’d stopped trying to contact him. He hoped it would stay that way. Fewer connections between himself and Benny meant less fuel for Business. He knew how this worked, knew what Business expected of him. He just had to play the game, and Benny would stay safe.

Benny, meanwhile, had become a media darling in the weeks since the accident. His story of survival, coupled with his achievements during the mission made him just the kind of hero the media was panting for. And it certainly didn’t hurt that he was still boy-next-door handsome despite the splints and braces, missing teeth and healing wounds.

He also proved to have tremendous patience with reporters thrusting microphones and cameras in his direction during every milestone of his recovery. He just smiled that breezy thousand-watt smile and said something appropriately charming and clever. Typical Benny. How he managed it time and again, Bad Cop couldn’t comprehend. He himself had fought the urge to defenestrate more reporters than he could easily recall.

The media attention to the astronauts’ recoveries meant that Bad Cop was spared the indignity of broaching the subject with a still-seething Lucy and a painfully uncomfortable Emmet. Bad Cop could watch along with the entire city on the nightly news as Benny underwent intense physical therapy on his badly injured arm and recovered from surgery to repair the torn ACL in his right leg. He learned Benny’s pneumonia was slow to resolve, heard several experts weigh in on the aftereffects of seawater on lung tissue. And once Bad Cop stumbled upon a news commentary showing a particularly graphic animation of CPR-induced rib fractures; it had taken half a pint of whiskey to erase that image from his brain. But all told, it seemed Benny was well on his way to as complete a recovery as could be hoped for. Bad Cop took some small comfort in that.

If the nights were hazy and booze-soaked, the mornings brought their own special kind of hell. They were lonely. Bad Cop had grown accustomed to Benny’s early morning texts. They’d begun when Benny was in space, and he’d kept them up throughout his stay in the hospital. Now Bad Cop’s phone was silent until his work alarm. It was the loudest silence he’d known since Good Cop had been taken from him. He’d lay in bed, awake, waiting, listening, straining his ear for contact that never came.

Until the morning it did.

Two text alerts, in rapid succession. The sounds made him jump. His sleep-clumsy hands nearly knocked the phone off the bedside table.

One from Lucy: a link to a website. He’d look at it later.

And then the second, a text from Ben, two words that had him clawing his way out of bed and scrabbling in a panic for his clothes:

  
_he’s here_


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just Business.

There was a sea of press outside the hospital when Bad Cop arrived in the unmarked car. It jogged his memory. The five _Vega_ crew were to be released that day, together. They’d made a public promise they’d leave as they arrived: as a crew, no one left behind. Benny’d been the one outlier with his stubborn pneumonia, but he’d cleared his most recent checkup. Today they were all headed home.

Bad Cop left his car in the fire lane and hustled to the doors, jostling through the crowd. The woman at admissions was familiar. He’d seen her several times before, but he showed his badge anyway.

"Flight Engineer Blue? Where is he?"

She didn’t hesitate. “In the conference room, sir. Private photo shoot with the AP.”

Of course. An early morning shoot, hoping to avoid a media circus. It hadn’t worked—clearly someone had blabbed, if the size of the crowd outside was any indication. He nodded his thanks and headed down the hall. Sounded like just the kind of hullabaloo that would attract Business, like a shark to blood in the water.

The conference room doors were unlocked. Bad Cop let himself in.

Only the stage was lit. The five astronauts were seated on folding chairs, all wearing blue polo shirts and khakis. Business stood behind the seats, leaning over the crew with outstretched arms—a possessive gesture that turned Bad Cop’s stomach. He began to make his way down to the stage, anger rising in his gut.

Benny saw him first. His quick eyes locked on Bad Cop, never moved from him.

A moment later, he’d caught Business’ attention. Bad Cop watched with satisfaction as his face fell openly. Business shot a glance at two toughs standing sloppily at attention by the edge of the stage. Bad Cop scrutinized them. Mildly menacing, but just kids really. Couldn’t have been more than 20 years old apiece. They stared nervously at him as he approached, shifting awkwardly in their too-new combat boots.

Bad Cop halted at the stage steps.

"Sir, this is a private media event. I’m going have to ask you to leave."

Business laughed brashly. He looked around at the small assembly of astronauts and press. “Aw, but everyone’s okay with me being here. Just a few pics to show my support for the program. No one minds, right guys?”

Several sets of eyes looked pointedly at Bad Cop from the clot of photographers and reporters crammed into the first two rows of seats. It was clear they wanted Business out, and were expecting Bad Cop to remedy the situation. The silence was painful.

Bad Cop put his hands on his hips.

"Sir, please."

Business brushed him off. “C’mon Bad Cop. You can bend the rules a _little_. I finally have the chance to make friends with all these great folks!”

Business clapped his hand down hard on the nearest shoulder. It was Benny’s. Bad Cop watched in wordless horror as Benny gasped and pitched forward in his chair, clutching his damaged arm, breathless with pain. In three strides Bad Cop was on the stage, white hot and vibrating with fury, hauling Business away like an animal.

Bad Cop glared at the two toughs in the shadows as he lugged Business roughly by. Stunned, they stepped back, made no motion to intervene.

Business struggled to keep up as Bad Cop dragged him towards the conference room doors. “Where the hell are you taking me?” he hissed.

"Away from here."

He tried to wrench his arm free, but Bad Cop only dug his fingers in deeper.

"Easy," Business whined, "That fucking hurts, you ass."

Bad Cop wheeled on him, shook him hard by the meat of his arm. Bad Cop spoke quietly through clenched teeth, red-faced with anger.

"If you keep struggling I will tear your muscle cleanly away from your bone. _That_ will hurt. And it will look like an accident. I promise you that. _Sir_.”

Business turned ashen but collected himself quickly. He followed Bad Cop without further protest. They walked in stony silence out of the hospital and through the crowd of reporters and photogs to the unmarked car. Bad Cop unlocked the passenger side door, pulled it open, and stood waiting for Business until his patience flagged.

“ _Get. In_.”

Business looked from the crowd to the car to Bad Cop, pressed his lips together in smug defiance.

“If I refuse?”

Bad Cop leaned in, hand on the doorframe. “You can get in now or I can hunt you down later. Either way it ends the same. You decide.”

Business glared at Bad Cop a moment more, then climbed into the front seat. Bad Cop shut him in with much more force than was necessary. Through the car window he could see Business flinch back from the door. It was profoundly satisfying.

Bad Cop made his way around the front of the Charger slowly, eyes to the crowd, cautious. He’d expected confrontation, resistance, some sort of reaction from Business’ men, but there was nothing, even now. It was beyond bizarre. In truth, it was disorienting. This man who had held such great power in the city now sat alone, undefended and unclaimed in the front of the police car. Even the press were unwilling to give up their coveted places at the hospital entrance to photograph Business leaving. They were waiting for the astronauts. The heroes. Business was old news. Bad Cop scanned the crowd a final time. This was exactly what Lucy had been talking about. The realization hit him hard.

He climbed into the car, turned the engine over.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Business again, unsteadily.

Bad Cop clutched the steering wheel, stared hard at his hands. “I told you. Away from here.”

He pulled the car out of the fire lane and onto the quiet early morning street. They drove in silence for several blocks. Business picked at the plastic of the door console, made a great show of disinterest. His nerves were apparent, but still Bad Cop could feel him winding up for a dig, trying to regain control.

“Unusually ballsy move for you back there, Bad Cop,” said Business blandly, breaking the silence as they sat at a traffic light. “Hard to keep you away from astronauts these days, it seems.”

There it was. He couldn’t fucking resist turning the screw, even now. It was beyond belief.

“This all stops _today_ ,” Bad Cop said simply.

Business turned fully in his seat to face Bad Cop. “Whoa whoa _whoa_. Did you just threaten me, Bad Cop? Because that’s _awfully_ fucking bold. Especially for someone in your situation, someone with so much to lose, dontcha think? Pretty sure you’re forgetting your place, pal.”

Bad Cop shook his head slowly. Suddenly the absurdity of the situation hit and he was overcome with exhausted laughter. It shook his entire body, made him breathless. His eyes streamed with tears. He couldn’t see. He managed to pull the car to the side of the street and doubled over the steering wheel, unable to stop laughing.

“You’re _un-fucking-believable_ ,” Bad Cop choked out at last. He lifted his aviators to scrub at his eyes. “It’s all goddamned smoke and mirrors, isn’t it? All goddamned smoke and mirrors. What a fucking _kick_.”

Business sat perfectly still, watching him nervously. “What?”

“I played your fucking game so long I didn’t even notice. It ended years ago and I’m the _only one_ still playing it with you. Goddamn.” Bad Cop ran his hands through his hair, balancing his elbows on the steering wheel.

Business was silent. There was a muffled clunk as he tried the door handle.

“It’s locked, Sir,” Bad Cop grinned crookedly, training his good eye on him. “Safety first.”

Business looked stricken, said nothing.

“Why didn’t your goons follow us? Or try to stop me from taking you away? Why?”

“Hard to find good help these days,” Business sniffed.

Bad Cop looked at him for a long moment before he pulled the car back onto the street.

Business pointed out the passenger window. “My condo is that way.”

“We’re going for a ride first.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unraveling.

Bad Cop swung the unmarked car east, toward the docklands. The early morning sun fell full on their faces, bright white and hot as a firebrand. Bad Cop felt like it could cook the poison of the last fifteen years right out of him.

Business fumbled with the sun visor. “You’re holding me against my will, you know.” His voice was tinny, nervous, “It’s only a matter of time before my men find you.”

Bad Cop snorted. “I seriously doubt that.”

“You’re awfully fricking sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Business gave up on the visor, folded his arms tight against his chest. He tipped his head away and glared out the window.

Bad Cop rolled his eyes. “Those grotty little punks at the hospital? A couple of fucked-up kids you dressed like thugs and propped up next to you? They don’t care if you live or die. You can’t buy loyalty. Not at the price you’re offering.”

Business sat silently, face to the window. His expression was unreadable.

It was all coming clear in Bad Cop’s mind. Business was unraveling before his eyes like thread from a spool. The realization made him lightheaded, giddy. It loosened his tongue and made him bold.

“Because the truth is, no one dares touch you, not anymore. No one wants that stain rubbing off. And you can throw all the fucking cash you want at charities and causes and call yourself reformed, but it’s all a sham. You’re _still_ using people as props, and now everyone knows it. They’re onto you.”

He turned the car south, skirting the row of warehouses lined up along the water’s edge. Buildings became more and more dilapidated as they drove. The city was decaying. There were shadowy sections here the sun never reached, dark corners beneath overpasses and alleyways where all manner of cruelty and inhumanity played out every day.

Bad Cop fished a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket and pushed in the lighter on the dash to heat. In his periphery he could see Business startle when the metal piece sprung back out, red and glowing. Bad Cop pressed the coils to the end of the cigarette, took two short, encouraging drags. He cracked the window, exhaled.

“You can see the end coming, can’t you, Sir? That’s why Blue burns you up. Because the last arsehole playing your game is finally laying down his cards, paying out, and moving the fuck on. And that scares the shit out of you. _That_ means it really _is_ all over.”

“Now you wait just one goddamned _minute_.” Business jerked away from the window, trained his shark’s eyes on Bad Cop. “I’m _sick and tired_ of listening to your disrespect. I saved you. I _protected_ you. I gave you everything you needed. _Everything_.”

Business turned back to the window and gripped the seat with both hands, knuckles white as bone as he struggled to collect himself. “And you get puppy-eyed over some damned astronaut who doesn’t know the first thing about you? How the hell do you think that makes me feel? Having to watch that after everything I’ve done for you?”

Bad Cop flicked the head of ash from his cigarette. “I don’t owe you a thing.”

“Oh no?” Business pulled his lips back in a cruel grin. “I did you a _favor_ , Bad Cop. I took you when no one else wanted you. And I guarantee I’m the only one who’d have you now, after all you’ve done. Don’t kid yourself—you’re no fucking prize.”

Business cocked his head in mock innocence and continued. “Does your bright-eyed astronaut know you’re a torturer? A killer? Hmm? You think he’s gonna stick around for an explanation when he digs that up? _I’m_ tainted? Well, so are _you_ , pal. We went down that road _together_.”

Bad Cop drove on without a word, smoking.

“And when spaceboy sees _my_ name in that scar between your knees, then he’ll know you’re just a piece of old used-up junk, and he’s got sloppy seconds. You’re _mine_ , Bad Cop. And every single time that twink astronaut sucks your cock he’ll be reminded you're mine.”

With a shriek of brakes the car halted in middle of the deserted street. Bad Cop set the handbrake with a vicious jerk and got out, wordless with rage. He paced around the front of the Charger, flung open the passenger door and hauled Business out by his jacket lapels, crushing him hard against the side of the car. Terror bloomed in Business’ eyes. His hands clutched reflexively at Bad Cop’s wrists.

“I’m unarmed, you fucking animal,” he whined.

Bad Cop’s voice was low, dangerous. “Let’s get one thing _perfectly clear_.” He hitched Business up against the car violently. “I was _never_ yours. _Never_. You’ve cut me to ribbons and taken my eye but I’m _still_ not yours. I’m not your goddamned possession. I’m _not_. _Do you fucking hear me_?”

Business nodded once, reluctantly.

Bad Cop shook him hard, rattling him against the windows. “ _Do you hear me_ _?_ ”

“Yes! Yes.” He scrabbled at Bad Cop’s hands.

Bad Cop shoved him back in disgust and released his grip. “You’re not worth another second of my time. God knows I’ve wasted years on you. I’d tell you to keep the hell away from Blue, but you’re about as dangerous as a moth in a downpour. It’s so clear to me now. And goddamn if it didn’t take me half a decade to suss that out.”

Bad Cop stood and watched as Business carefully smoothed down his lapels, slowly brushed the creases from the front of his jacket. Bad Cop could see Business piecing his dignity back together, his mind working, angling to regain control, readying for another round.

But this time Bad Cop wasn’t going to let himself be dragged back in. Never again. Bile began to rise in his throat as he imagined hidden eyes at windows all around them, watching silently.

This wretched cycle had to end.

Bad Cop forced himself to look hard at Business. Deep lines cut through his face now. Dark crescents hung beneath his eyes. His hair was greying rapidly and liver spots were beginning to stipple the tops of his cheeks. Time had been relentless.

Bad Cop took a deep breath.

“When you treat people as either props or possessions, neither will have any reason to stand by you. You’re going to be a very, very lonely man. And I almost regret that.”

He tugged his money clip from his pocket, counted out three bills, let them flutter to the macadam.

“Here,” he said.

Business stared at the money, baffled. “What’s this?”

“Bus fare. The 290 heads back downtown. Eventually.” Bad Cop waved his hand absently down the street. “There’s a stop at the end of the block I think.”

“What?” Business jerked his head up. “You can’t leave me here!” He looked around at the barred, abandoned storefronts, the crumbling brownstones held together with corrugated metal sheeting, all tagged with the red rabbit of the Duplos. He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t!”

Bad Cop walked slowly back to the driver’s side of the car, opened the door and leaned on the doorframe. He watched fear cartwheel across Business’ face. It sickened him to discover how much he enjoyed it. But then, Business had always brought out the very worst in him.

“It’s not personal, Sir,” Bad Cop feigned reassurance. He gave Business a small salute. “Ciao.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawling back to you.

Twilight was settling soft and blue on the hills when Bad Cop turned onto the dirt road. By some miracle he’d gotten through the entire workday, fighting off exhaustion from the morning and gritting his teeth through the relentless adrenaline shakes that followed. He’d fled the precinct at 5:00 on the nose, all thoughts on Benny.

Bad Cop eased the car along the the farmer’s track slowly, trying to keep the dust down. He didn’t particularly want to draw the attention of any other cruisers in the area. At the top of a small rise his headlights glinted across metal. A familiar blue Mustang came into view, parked at the edge of a fallow field. He swung the Charger left, pulled it in on the opposite side of the track. His heart was hammering loud in his ears, his stomach twisted into knots.

He forced himself out of the car, hung on the doorframe and tried to collect himself. He spent nearly a full minute debating the merits of having a smoke to calm his nerves, but in the end he decided against it. He crossed the dirt track and headed towards Benny’s car.

Benny lay stretched back against the windshield of his Mustang in his knee brace and shoulder sling. How he’d managed to haul himself up onto the hood with only one operational arm and leg, Bad Cop couldn’t imagine. Sheer determination, most likely. As Bad Cop approached, Benny raised his head and tucked his good arm under his neck. He looked oddly jaunty, like he was at a tailgate party. Cool and in control. If he was surprised to see Bad Cop, he didn’t show it. Bad Cop had the odd sensation that he had been expected.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?” Benny asked, grinning.

In the half-light Bad Cop noticed Benny’d had his teeth fixed. He’d probably seen one too many press photos showcasing his brutalized smile. Bad Cop couldn’t blame him for wanting to feel whole again. He fought that demon daily.

He halted in front of the Mustang, jangled the stray coins in his pocket nervously. “You weren’t at your apartment when I called round tonight. I hoped I’d find you here.” He allowed himself a small wry grin. “I was running out of places to look that didn’t involve a flight on a rocket.”

Benny chuckled, inclined his head. “Well, I’m glad you found me, B.”

The sincerity of Benny’s warmth caught Bad Cop off guard. He forgot everything he’d planned to say, and could only stare helplessly at that smile.

Benny broke the silence, rescuing Bad Cop’s dignity.

“I’m sorry you had to traipse all over creation to find me, but I just had to drive out here tonight. I haven’t seen the stars since I was all the way upstairs with them—can you believe that?” Benny shook his head. “You can’t see them from the hospital—Bricksburg city lights are too bright. Man, I missed the stars. Couldn’t wait to get out here when the sun went down.”

“Should you really be driving?” Bad Cop nodded at Benny’s leg and arm.

“Absolutely not,” Benny mugged. And then in a stage whisper, “But don’t tell the cops, okay?”

Bad Cop was blindsided by his own laughter. Benny just grinned at him like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. This was not how Bad Cop had imagined their meeting would proceed. He’d meant to be serious, say serious things. Important things. Their levity was throwing him off. He swallowed hard, tried to focus. Benny must have sensed his struggle; he tempered his grin, sat quiet and patient, waiting for him to speak. Bad Cop took a deep breath.

“Benny, there are some things I need to say to you.”

“Alright. I’m all ears.”

Bad Cop leaned in, thigh against the wheel well of the Mustang. “Lucy sent me the NTSB report on _Vega_ this morning. I read it when I was at work.” Bad Cop looked up at Benny. “It was a true accident. Had nothing to do with Business.”

Benny nodded. “Yep. We received it late yesterday and I passed it on to her. Two chute lines severed on a piece of flashing reentry pulled loose. None of the bolts had been tampered with. A freak thing.” He shrugged and winced, rubbed at his shoulder. “Like you said: an accident. But Business showing up at the hospital today—that threw me. Even after I’d seen the report. I didn’t know what to think then, so I texted you.”

Bad Cop folded his arms against his chest. “He was there to intimidate. He’s been doing it for months, Ben, since he first saw us together. And once he realized I was overestimating his influence he took full advantage of it. As long as I believed he could hurt you, all he had to do was keep up the act. He’s quick as hell, I’ll give him that. But the truth is, he’s a shadow of the man he once was. He’s powerless, and he’s alone. And he won’t bother you anymore. Not after today.” Bad Cop stared hard at the ground. “Listen Ben, I haven’t told you everything about the nature of my…relationship with Business. Things will make more sense when I do.”

Benny waved away Bad Cop’s concern. “It’s okay, B. Whenever you’re ready. We don’t have to talk about it tonight. Lucy and Emmet gave me the basics when I was still in the hospital.”

Bad Cop shifted awkwardly. “Oh.” His brow furrowed. “Fuck.”

With one arm, Benny pushed himself upright on the hood of the Mustang. “Don’t be upset with them, B. I was the one who asked them about it. I couldn’t figure out why Business wanted you to stay away from me, or why you thought he wanted me dead. I just needed to understand why you left, for the sake of my own sanity. I think I deserved that at least, don’t you? I never imagined I’d see you again anyway.”

That brought Bad Cop up short. He scrubbed wearily at his face, quietly despising himself.

“Benny, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Bad Cop thrust his hands into his pockets and angled his head towards Benny. He’d been watching him recover on the news for weeks and weeks, but nothing compared to Benny in the flesh. Even wounded and broken, he was still radiant, and suddenly the full weight of his long absence began to press in on Bad Cop. The prospect of a future without him sent a jag of cold through his chest.

“Listen Ben, I know I’ve fucked things up badly, and I don’t expect miracles, but I was hoping you’d let me give this another try. You and me. Properly, this time.”

Benny’s smile betrayed sadness. “B., you broke my heart.”

There was a long terrible silence.

Bad Cop could feel the world tilting out beneath him, gimbaling wildly under his feet. He fought to crush the sensation down, to stay in control. His temples prickled with shame. So this truly was the end. No more second chances. He’d been foolish to imagine he could patch things up so easily. Over his right shoulder he caught sight of the full moon, red as new blood, creeping up over the tops of the far hills. It seemed an appropriately evil omen.

“Well. That’s it then.” Bad Cop pulled off his duty cap and scratched at his unwashed hair. “Pretty much what I should have expected to hear, but I thought I’d give it a go anyway. I’m sorry for everything I did. Look after yourself, Ben.”

He nodded at Benny, pushed away from the Mustang and started up the hill to the Charger. He was halfway up the rise when he heard his name.

“Wait, B. Don’t go. Please,” Benny called out.

Bad Cop stopped short and turned back. Waited. Benny’s silhouette was dark against the huge red disk of the moon. His face was in deep shadow, unreadable. 

“Come back.” It sounded like a plea.

Bad Cop didn’t hesitate. He retraced his steps to the Mustang, scarcely able to breathe, boots sinking deep into last year’s plow furrows, heart in his throat.

When he reached the car, Benny met his eyes, held his gaze for a long time.

“You know,” Benny said, “Broken hearts heal. Mine will, too, I suppose.”

Benny paused to look up high into the darkening sky. Bad Cop could see the pinpoint reflections of the stars in his eyes.

“Every morning I wake up because of you, B. I haven’t forgotten that, and I never will. Each moment is a gift you’ve given me. I’m so lucky—I have another shot at this amazing, crazy, beautiful life.” He turned away from the sky and back to Bad Cop. “And the more I think about it, the more I know I want to spend it with you.”

Bad Cop leaned heavily back against the side of the Mustang, incredulous.

“You…do?”

“Yes.”

“My God.” Bad Cop cracked a crooked smile.

“Do you want to watch the stars with me for a while?” Benny patted the hood of the car.

“Oh, absolutely.”

He clambered up onto the Mustang and settled down beside Benny. They pressed in tight to each other, shoulder to shoulder, warm and close, the vault of the sky shimmering and sparkling above them. Within seconds Benny was resting his head softly against Bad Cop’s shoulder, pointing out this constellation and that, picking out the colors of planets from the veil of white-hot stars, tracing the starry wave of the Milky Way.

Bad Cop was entirely enveloped in the familiar scent of Ivory soap and Benny’s cheap drugstore aftershave. It felt like coming home to a place he’d missed and loved for a long time. He reached for Benny’s hand, and found it warm and soft and eager to be held. He gave it a quick kiss, and twined their fingers together, gently, gently, until there was no space between them.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

Moonlight spilled through the blinds, pooling white-blue at the bottom of the bed. Bad Cop watched it move slowly, slowly across the blankets, rippling gently over the tangle of their legs. Above him, the entire solar system, suspended on filament, wheeled silently across the ceiling on updrafts of air. Outside, twelve floors below, the street sounds were muffled, drowsy. The entire Earth seemed asleep.

Benny was snoring like an exhausted puppy, crushed in tight against Bad Cop’s side. His head was pillowed on the juncture of Bad Cop’s chest and arm, and he was drooling enthusiastically into Bad Cop’s armpit, but Bad Cop didn’t have the heart to wake and move him. An offer of a late-night cup of coffee back at Benny’s after stargazing had turned predictably frisky—so much so that Benny’d had to pop two pain pills as they lay panting like teenagers afterwards in the tangle of sheets.

Working together they’d been able to bolster and prop Benny’s injured limbs with pillows before the sedative effect of the meds took hold. It had been a two-person job to get still-healing Benny comfortable enough to sleep, and Bad Cop wondered how Benny’d manage on his own. He turned the problem over and over in his head, running his hand softly up and down Benny’s arm.

Far off, the wail of a siren pierced the quiet.

Benny jolted halfway out of sleep at the sound. “B.?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still here?” he asked drowsily.

Bad Cop grinned into the darkness. “I am.”

“Okay. Good.” Benny settled back into the crook of Bad Cop’s shoulder and was snoring softly again almost immediately, warm and perfect, curled gently into Bad Cop’s arms.

Bad Cop smoothed a palmful of overgrown red hair away from Benny’s forehead. Freckles flecked his cheeks like constellations, a map of the sky in miniature emblazoned across his face.

He couldn’t leave Benny to fend for himself.

It simply was not an option.

He’d call off work in the morning. Go home and pack a bag, shut up his apartment for an extended stay away. He’d be there at the ready when Benny needed him, as long as Benny needed him.

He’d make damned sure of that.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m indebted to to the very talented paperspot. PS’s Grittyverse fics have influenced my own BC headcanons.


End file.
